(Revel)ations
Banquet
Harry
"This was a mistake," Pansy snarled, "I was a fool to agree with it. No, actually, it's yours and Daphne's fault, for tricking me into thinking that this would work out."
"Pans," Harry chuckled, "you'll be fine."
"I absolutely will not be fine," she grumbled, "this is stupid. A farce. A complete and utter disaster in the making."
Harry reached down to squeeze one of her arms (folded petulantly across her chest) in reassurance. Pansy always had a flair for the somewhat theatrical, but no more than when she was nervous, he'd come to learn.
He certainly understood why she was feeling this way, especially given her history, but Harry had faith both in her and in the people that were awaiting them inside.
"Fine, let's march to my fucking execution," Pansy harrumphed, "can't wait to spend the next couple hours hearing about how terrible I am."
"You're brilliant," Harry hushed her, then knocked on the door they were standing in front of. It only took a few moments before it swung open, revealing Harry's other girlfriend.
"Hey," Daphne smiled, "everyone's inside. Are you ready?"
"Absolutely," Harry agreed, speaking over whatever muttered protest Pansy was about to launch into once again.
It's really far from the worst situation either of us have ever dealt with, Harry mused, but I guess Pansy's probably never done this before.
He passed Daphne the bottle of wine he'd brought, and followed her deeper into the house: the event of the evening was just a simple dinner party, hosted at Ron and Astoria's, with a couple of Daphne's friends in attendance.
It was also the occasion where the trio planned to reveal their relationship to these select friends, so Harry could understand why Pansy was in such a state: three people all dating each other wasn't exactly the most conventional form of a relationship, Pansy surely had some sort of past with Daphne's friends (considering they'd all been in the same year of Slytherin together), and Ron had never really gone beyond "resigned tolerance" of Pansy's presence.
Entering the kitchen, Harry quickly took account of the other hosts and guests gathered within. Ron was meandering around near the stove, having apparently volunteered to be in charge of preparing the dinner, while his wife, Astoria, was already seated at the table. Her pregnancy hadn't quite begun to show yet, but she was also dressed more comfortably than Harry was used to seeing her. The other two guests – also a couple – were familiar enough sights, even if Harry couldn't recall speaking more than a few words to either over the course of Hogwarts.
Theodore (he prefers "Theo", Harry recalled) Nott Jr. had definitely changed since those school days: where he'd once been somewhat rat-like in appearance, he now had something of a Muggle rock-star vibe about him. The man was still small and slightly built, his hair was piled in a wavy tangle at the top of his head and shaved short on the side (rather than long and oiled, as Harry remembered), and most importantly he looked relaxed rather than nervous and sneering.
Harry hadn't really interacted with Tracey Davis in school, but he'd certainly heard enough about her from Daphne to have a decent-enough grasp of her personality: she tended to be quiet, was studious but not particularly obsessive about it, and balanced "kindness" with "pragmatism" in a careful way.
Probably needed to, Harry thought. Tracey was a so-called "Half-Blood", daughter to a Muggle mother, and had the foresight to have fled Britain before the start of their seventh year, avoiding the fallout that her particular status would have brought down on her in a Death Eater-run Hogwarts.
Theo, meanwhile, had left Britain after the war: he was one of the number of Slytherin students who sat out the final battle in the dungeons, aiding neither the Death Eaters nor the defenders of Hogwarts. This didn't exactly impress Harry, but he supposed that he could understand why Theo would have been hesitant to go into combat against his Death Eater father.
Besides, Harry thought with an internal smirk, can't exactly hold that against him. My girlfriend did try and get me killed, after all.
"Harry, mate!" Ron called out, turning from his task at the stove, "glad you could make it!"
"Cheers, mate," Harry agreed, returning Ron's awkward, oven-mitted handshake, "smashing apron."
"Heh," Ron chuckled, posing to show off the chef's apron he was wearing: an objectively hideous design of purple and silver sparkles, with "MAKIN' MAGIC" emblazoned in rhinestones across the top, above a cartoon pan surrounded by stars. "Christmas gift from Luna. I think it's rather dashing, yeah?"
"As an expert, I can decisively say it is not," Pansy drawled from behind Harry.
"Ah, welcome, Parkinson," Ron rolled his eyes, "I almost didn't see you sneak in here. It's a good thing I invited you, Harry, I couldn't be the only one here who wasn't a Slytherin. Sorry about the, er, seventh-wheeling and all."
Not quite, mate, Harry chuckled, brushing off the comment with an offer to help Ron with his cooking. Daphne hadn't exactly been transparent about who she was bringing to dinner: she had gently prodded Ron into inviting Harry rather than bringing him as her own guest, one of the little social plots that she and Pansy still engaged in.
His girlfriends had – ridiculously, in Harry's opinion – come up with a whole set of contingencies, different plans to reveal that Daphne was dating Harry, or dating Pansy, depending on the initial reception from Tracey, Theo, Ron, and Astoria. Harry, of course, had bulled his way through these carefully-woven narratives: if their friends didn't seem receptive to their relationship (which included all three of them), that was their loss, and there was nothing to gain from trying to hide part of the trio.
"Harry, come have a seat!" Astoria called out, dashing his own plan to busy himself with helping Ron. He joined the table, seated across from Daphne, Tracey, and Theo, and at a corner to Pansy.
"How's work?" Astoria asked, sipping from a glass of water that was practically overflowing with mint leaves.
"Ah, business is slow these days," Harry shrugged, measuring his reply. Theo wasn't marked, he recalled, but it still might be a bit risky to shoot off with "oh, you know, throwing dark wizards in jail" or something like that.
"Not all of us are as business-minded as Pansy or Theo," Daphne interjected, clearly prodding Harry to follow up with the latter.
"That so?" Harry poured himself a glass of wine, "what are you up to, these days, Theo?"
"Ah, I uh," Theo stammered, clearly nervous himself, "I run a potions shop. Custom-brewed potions are all the rage in Brooklyn right now, it's been surprisingly popular."
"What're the greatest hits?" Harry asked, sipping his wine. He recalled that Theo had pointedly not been part of the "Slug Club" when it was in full swing, his family associations keeping him from that opportunity.
"They're really into draughts of dreaming," Theo seemed to gain confidence as he spoke, "tailored to specific experiences, the 'celebrity' or 'Quodpot star' dreams are big right now."
"Sounds kind of like you're dealing drugs," Pansy observed, smirking.
"Well, the American Wizards are really, really big fans of psychedelics," Tracey agreed, speaking up for the first time, and also not rising to Pansy's bait.
"I'm surprised you didn't wind up in potions yourself, Pansy," Theo didn't seem quite as forgiving, "I recall that you had some talent for them at school. Then again, given your other talents at Hogwarts, I suppose that people would've been too scared you'd poison them."
"Didn't you hear, Theodore?" Pansy took a slow drink of her wine, "you're not the only one who rehabilitated themselves after seventh year. Why, I dare say I'm pretty much on the heroic side of things now."
"Put the fangs away," Daphne's rebuke was gentle, "I think we're all a lot better off now than we were back then."
"Most of us, for sure," Ron approached the table, several plates floating in front of him at the end of his wand, "Pansy's just as pleasant as ever, though."
Harry winced. Not the greatest start, Pans.
"Ah, Ronald," Pansy smirked again, "we're all set in our ways, yeah? Take your fashion sense, for example."
"I gotta say, Daph," Theo grinned, a glint of something almost cruel in his eyes, "I'm a bit surprised. Thought you might take a bit more inspiration from 'Stori, rather than rehashing your previous dating preferences."
Fucking Slytherins, Harry thought, glancing at Ron for support. Unfortunately, Ron seemed all-too-happy to sit back and watch the argument develop, calmly plating a serving of potatoes for himself.
"Ah, well, yes," Daphne stammered, looking down at the table, "I… I guess I kinda did, yeah?"
There was a moment of quiet, interrupted by Astoria snorting loudly, before actually breaking out into a laugh.
"You would!" Astoria cried out, cheerfully. "I should have known!"
The others at the table looked around in confusion, apparently not having reached the same conclusion that Astoria had.
"Right, well," Daphne looked up from her fidgeting, and Harry could see how she steeled herself, "Tracey? Theo? I did say I'd be introducing you to who I'm dating now, but that wasn't quite accurate, I guess. You already know Pansy, of course, my girlfriend."
Harry took a healthy swig of his wine, setting his glass down.
"I suppose what I meant by introductions," Daphne smiled cautiously, "is that neither of you really know my boyfriend, Harry."
There was a clatter as Ron dropped his fork against his plate, goggling with wide eyes between Harry, Pansy, Daphne, and back to Harry.
"Rather progressive, innit?" Pansy drawled, spearing a sausage from a serving dish with her fork, "see, Theo, I have become more open-minded."
"But…" Ron's eyes remained as wide as his own dinner plate, "that's, uh, how does that even work?"
"Pretty well, actually," Harry shrugged, "maybe not the most conventional way of doing things, but that's never really been my style, yeah?"
"Took you long enough," Astoria had a wide grin on her face, her eyes practically sparkling with curiosity, "I've always thought that you and Harry would like each other. I'm surprised, though, Pansy, I always figured you'd be the jealous type."
"What've I got to be jealous of?" Pansy smirked, "Potter?"
"What Pansy means is," Harry stared across the table at her, where Pansy merely raised an eyebrow tauntingly, "there's not really much cause to be jealous, we're dating too."
If Ron looked shocked before, his expression now was positively flabbergasted.
"That does seem better," Tracey agreed, the quiet woman's seeming endorsement coming as a pleasant surprise, "y'know, that's a common-enough thing over in the states, yeah?"
"How's that?" Astoria asked, as she reached to pat her husband's arm, Ron continuing to flick his gaze rapidly between each of the three in this recently-revealed trio.
"Well, they've got a whole bunch more witches than they do wizards," Tracey shrugged, unbothered, "it's some kind of magic of the land, yeah? They've been big into covens ever since Salem."
"Merlin, Harry," Ron finally spoke, "you're going to bring Pansy to Christmas at the burrow, aren't you?"
Harry smiled; his grin wide.
"Absolutely."
The rest of dinner passed fairly uneventfully, the mood lifting and hostilities finally starting to fade away as Daphne's friends (and Ron) got a grasp of her relationship. Harry also got the chance to get to know these aforementioned friends better, and he quickly came to understand why Daphne was so close with them.
Theo was sharp in a way that honestly wasn't dissimilar from Pansy, quick-witted and sarcastic, but more self-effacing than Harry's girlfriend was. Tracey almost reminded Harry of Hermione at times, especially when she got into a topic of magical history, which she taught classes in at a magical college in New York. From what Harry understood, apparently post-secondary education was more traditional across the Atlantic, which gave him some degree of pause when he remembered that – by an equivalent comparison – he technically hadn't finished high school.
As Ron began clearing the plates from the table, Harry noticed that his friend kept flicking his gaze to his own wrist, where he wore a watch that displayed a curious time of "550:520".
"Darling," Astoria interrupted, "why don't you go put the game on. Daph, Trace, and I have some catching up to do."
Ron was all-too-eager to agree to this, excitedly turning to Harry.
"I've got the scry-o-vision working!" Ron announced, "wanna watch?"
"The what?" Pansy interjected, "you can watch games?"
"Yeah," Ron puffed himself up, "I've got the radio synchronized with a scrying mirror, it's basically the next best thing to a 'tee-vee', like the Muggles have."
Harry smirked as he saw Pansy's interest piqued by this announcement: she was a bigger fan of Quidditch than either Daphne or himself, and one of her (numerous) complaints had been that she'd be missing her Magpies playing against the Cannons in order to attend this dinner party.
Following Pansy and Ron into Ron's lounge, with Theo meandering behind him, Harry's smirk turned into a contended smile as he heard Ron and Pansy talking Quidditch in quick, excited sentences.
"They aren't bad," Ron admitted, "Johnson's a hell of a chaser, but you've got no seeker worth their broom is all."
"Story of the Magpies, that," Pansy drawled, "not that your Cannons are any better. What's the score, anyways?"
"Five-eighty Chudley, Five-thirty Montrose," Ron answered, after glancing at his wrist again, "it's been going for the last three hours, now."
"Fuck," Pansy swore, "maybe I'll have to switch to the Harpies after all."
"Oh?" Ron asked, "y'know my sister plays for them, yeah?"
"She's one of my best customers, you know," Pansy smirked, and Harry saw a hint of genuine pride in her expression.
"I'm gonna nip outside," Harry announced, "catch you in a few minutes."
As he strolled out to one of the balconies in Ron and Astoria's house, Harry fished in his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He'd found that he had less desire to smoke lately, but still indulged himself now and then – after all, it's not like I can get cancer, he mused, one of the numerous ways that magic-users had advantages over their Muggle counterparts.
"Mind if I join you?" Theo's voice came from behind him, and Harry waved him outside acceptingly.
A few moments passed quietly as Theo lit his own cigarette, staring contemplatively out from the balcony.
"So," Theo finally spoke, "I'm going to ask this once, and then I'm fine dropping it forever."
Shite. Harry wasn't sure where this could lead.
"Did you kill my father?" Theo asked.
Harry stopped himself from going for his wand, forcing himself to tamp down on the paranoid instincts that his experiences had instilled in him: Theo didn't seem angry, or as if he was going to attack Harry based on his answer.
"I'm…" Harry cautiously began to reply. "I'm not sure." Probably. It was either me or Ernie. "There was a lot happening, I know I exchanged spells with him, but I can't say whether or not I landed the final blow." A memory of a hastily-cast bone-breaker curse in Nott Sr.'s direction came to mind.
"Too bad," Theo shrugged, "I'd shake your hand, or whoever finally did it, if I knew."
"Uh," Harry scratched at the back of his head with his empty hand, "Why do you ask?"
"After the war," Theo turned to Harry, and he could see a distant, sad look in the other man's eyes, "I had to be careful. I went through as many reports, as many claims as I could find, making sure that anyone who might come after me and Tracey was dealt with by someone."
Theo took a long drag of his cigarette before continuing.
"I don't know if you care enough to find out, but if it was you…" the other man shrugged, in a tight, awkward way, "you could claim House Nott, if you wanted. I'm abdicating it, while I'm back here again."
Ah. That shite again.
"Frankly," Harry shrugged in turn, "I don't honestly care, yeah. Nothing personal, but two houses is plenty for me, and I gave up my Rights of Conquest anyways."
"That's fair," Theo grinned, a hint of sadness in the expression, "I completely understand not wanting anything to do with all that political bullshite. I rather expect I'll get a howler or two after I dissolve my own house. Still, that's a lot to give up. Why didn't you lay your claim?"
"Gave it away," Harry grimaced, "I had debts to repay, and the Conquest claims seemed a fair way of doing so."
The goblins certainly fucking thought so, Harry recalled, went from being a "non-authorized Gringotts client" to "Friend of the Goblin Nation" with that exchange.
"Heh," Theo chuckled, "it's hard to imagine anyone seeing House Dolohov, and whatever others you accrued, as a 'gift'."
"Yeah." Harry agreed. He certainly didn't care to dig through whatever dark secrets that house, or others, had contained.
"You doing any of that Pureblood shite?" Theo asked, "the Wizengamot and what not? You've got some pretty impressive titles, after all."
"I'm handling it," Harry shrugged, "well, that is, Daphne taught me how to assign a delegate. Hermione's handling it."
"Hah," Theo grinned, "that sounds fitting. Still, convenient for you, being able to get married to both of your girlfriends, if you get that far."
"I, uh," Harry licked his lips nervously, finally noticing how Theo was plying him for information and evaluating whether he approved of Harry dating Daphne at the same time, "well, we kind of started, uh, seeing each other before I ever found out about that little Pureblood thing."
"I've got to admit," Theo flicked his cigarette into the air, where it vanished from sight with a pop, "you're more down-to-earth than I pictured. I still hear about you, even across the ocean, y'know."
"That's mental," Harry muttered, "I'm not anything special."
"Nah," Theo fixed him with his gaze, "you've got to be, or Daph wouldn't be dating you. Then again, Pansy…"
"Pansy's great," Harry insisted.
"I'm assuming she's come around, but, well," Theo shrugged, "I won't sugar-coat it, I never liked her. None of us are snotty little teenagers any more, maybe she's changed, but I was more worried when I thought that Daph was seeing just Pansy than I was when you all announced that it was the three of you."
"She has," Harry agreed, "and I think I'm a fair judge of that, given, you know, Pans tried to have me killed and all."
There was a moment of tension, before Theo chuckled at Harry's boldness.
"You're alright, Harry," Theo extended his hand, "I almost wish we'd been friends earlier, but my father would have literally killed me for it. Still, no time like the present, yeah?"
Harry shook his hand, agreeing.
"Now, I think I'm going to watch some Quidditch," Theo made his way inside, leaving Harry to finish what remained of his own cigarette, "good chat, Potter."
"Can't say I saw it coming, but," Ron smiled, "for what it counts, I'm happy for you, mate."
"Thanks, mate," Harry grinned in response.
"Wasn't exactly a secret that I thought you and Daph would be a good match," Ron shook his hand, "Pansy's a bit of a surprise, but she seems a lot better than she used to be. Knows a lot about Quidditch."
Heh, that would be the factor that won you over.
"I'm surprised you didn't go off about snakes or some such," Harry joked.
"Ah, times change," Ron released their handshake, nodding thoughtfully, "after all, Draco's part of my family now. I'm happy about that. Could you have imagined, when we were in Hogwarts?"
"Not really," Harry admitted, "but it feels a lot better this way, not being at each others' throats all the time."
"I was kind of joking, earlier," Ron continued, "but Pansy is actually welcome at Christmas, yeah? Mum might have a bit of a fit, but I'm sure even she'll be okay with that whole three-person-relationship thing after she sees you all around each other."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Ron seemed to be getting emotional, of all times to do so, "I'm seriously, actually happy for you. You look happy. Haven't seen that in years."
"I am," Harry admitted, "it's… good."
"Besides," Ron waggled his eyebrows, "two girlfriends? Nothing less for the golden boy, am I right?"
"Sod off," Harry chuckled, "don't get jealous just because you're old and married."
"If there's anything Weasley should be jealous about," Pansy interrupted, making her own approach to the doorway, "it's that his team got thrashed after we started watching."
"There's always next match," Ron shrugged, "and it's Greengrass-Weasley, technically."
"You two will get home safe, yeah?" Daphne now entered the conversation, a wine-granted blush on her cheeks, "Tracey, 'Stori and I are going to stay up late, like the sleepovers we used to have, or I'd come with."
"Totally fine, Daph," Harry assured her, "you all have fun, I'll make sure Miss Parkinson doesn't attack anyone on the way home."
"You wish, Potter," Pansy teased, "it'd give you an excuse to arrest someone instead of doing paperwork."
Daphne threw her arms around both of their shoulders in a casual embrace, kissing Pansy, then Harry on the cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered, "you were both brilliant."
"Night, Daphne," Harry smiled, "we'll see you soon."
"Goodnight, sweet," Pansy smirked beside him, as two of the trio said the rest of their goodbyes, departing Ron and Astoria's house. Theo and Tracey were, apparently, staying in one guest bedroom, Daphne in the other.
"I was pretty good tonight, right?" Pansy asked, as she linked her arm through Harry's.
"Brilliant," Harry teased, "didn't hex anyone."
"Glad to hear," Pansy fixed her gaze to his, pulling him down towards her, kissing him fiercely, "because I've had just about enough of being the good girl tonight."
"That so?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Absolutely," Pansy kissed him once more, quickly, "now apparate us home, Harry, because I'm going to fuck your brains out."
Harry thought that was a perfect plan.
Pansy
Pansy kicked off her heels, hung up her coat, and waited impatiently for the moment that it took Harry to do the same. As soon as he was shoeless, she leapt at him, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso, silencing his grunt of surprise by crushing her lips against his. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, she shoved her tongue into his mouth, meeting his own in a thoroughly enjoyable battle.
Harry began to walk up the stairs to his bedroom, carrying Pansy as if she was weightless in his arms, his firm grip under her arse sending a little thrill through her every time her position shifted. Though Harry wasn't exactly a giant of a man, he was more than strong enough to throw Pansy around like a doll if he wanted, and this night, she wanted him to do just that.
When he began to deposit her onto his bed, she hooked her legs into the back of his, pulling him down on top of her, enjoying the way that their bodies crashed together. She separated their lips only long enough to give him a single command:
"Trousers off."
Harry smirked at her, his gaze smoldering, as he began to fuss with his belt – the task not made any easier by the way that Pansy kept his hips pressed against her with the grip of her legs. For her own part, she reached down the front of her dress, undoing the clasp of her bra (good call on choosing the front-closing one, Pansy, she internally commended herself), hiking the top of her dress down and the bottom up so that it sat askew on her midsection.
As Harry shuffled out of his trousers, she trailed her nails up and down his torso, still hidden by his shirt. Losing patience, she propped herself up, grabbing Harry's shirt by the collar and tearing, opening it even as buttons popped off and bounced along his bedroom floor.
"Eager, are we?" Harry spoke, pushing her onto her back once again, tossing his ruined shirt away even as he loomed over her.
In lieu of a verbal response, she grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head down to hers roughly.
"Me too," he groaned, one of his hands gripping her hip tightly. He hooked his fingers under the band of her thong, and tore it aside with equal vigour as she'd divested him of his shirt.
Pansy bit his bottom lip – a bit too hard to be considered "playful" – and Harry hissed as he reached between their bodies to line his cock up with her entrance. She made a guttural, pleased sound as he pushed into her hard, the slightest twinge of pain she felt only enhancing the sensation of his manhood filling her.
He really does know what I like, Pansy mused, her mind only slightly wandering even as Harry began to thrust into her, their hips slapping together as her legs began to splay open. Needs to take initiative more often, still, but he's much better at getting rough without worrying about hurting me every few minutes.
In the pre-"relationship" days of their relationship, Pansy had felt the occasional bouts of insecurity over this aspect of Harry's nature, but now she had a much better grasp of the man: it wasn't that he didn't want her, or was only going along with what she wanted, it was just that he was somehow content with pretty much any form that their sex took.
It still vexed Pansy somewhat, because in their explorations so far she'd found that Harry's boundaries in terms of kinks lined up quite well with her own, and yet it was Daphne – the somewhat less-kinky member of their triad – who more often took the prerogative to try something new or suggest what she wanted to experiment with.
Though she definitely wouldn't complain, and Harry's whole "not a pushover, but happy to let Pansy or Daphne lead" approach was quite satisfying for her more domineering tendencies, she was still trying to coax Harry into absolutely dominating her, and so far, this seemed like a promising beginning.
Pansy bucked her hips up into Harry just as he was completing a down-stroke, slamming their sexes together with an audible slap, exalting in the way that Harry groaned into her mouth even as she sucked on his tongue. His hands moved from their position at either side of her to her hips, and it was Pansy's turn to moan when Harry shoved her further into the bed, pushing her up towards the headboard.
"Is that all you've got, Potter?" she taunted, as she reached behind herself, propping herself up on her hands and tightening the grip that her legs had around Harry's pelvis. Harry, for his own part, reached under her to grasp her arse, pulling her against himself with force as he resumed thrusting.
"You don't seem to be complaining," he responded, and she saw the lust in his eyes as he watched her tits bouncing under their combined efforts to hump against each other. Don't blame him, I truly do have spectacular tits, she smugly thought.
"Well, I'm the one fucking you, after all," Pansy drawled, increasing the pace that she was pushing her hips up and down against him – while pointedly ignoring the fact that this position was only possible because Harry was supporting most of her weight, of course.
"Are you, now?" Harry smirked, and Pansy's heart raced, thinking "finally" to herself when he shifted his weight.
He pulled her tight against himself even as he pulled back, which dragged her forward to flump onto her back once more, Harry now looming over her rather than the nearly-eye-level position they'd previously held. His hands roughly gripped her thighs, peeling her legs off from their wrap around his hips, and then he pushed her legs back, the tops of her thighs coming to rest against her own torso.
When Harry leaned forward, now pinning her in place with his size alone, all she could think was "fuck yes". He crushed his lips against hers as he began to piston in and out of her, her legs trapped between their bodies so that she was practically folded in half, his thrusts hitting deeper and deeper as he continued to contort her.
I feel small, vulnerable, she thought, hazily, but not weak. If anything was a new discovery for Pansy in the various forms of sex that Daphne, Harry, and herself had explored, it was precisely this: the concept of romantic rough sex, letting one of her partners control her body not because Pansy wanted to feel used, but because she was trusting them.
Any further musing was driven from her mind in a flash of white, when Harry hit a spot deep inside of her, her entire body spasming and then going still as she processed the sensation.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, slowing his thrusts.
"Don't you dare fucking stop," she spat, one of her hands going to his hair and tugging hard, the other going to his back, digging her nails into his flesh.
"Fuck," Harry grunted, reacting exactly like she wanted him to, beginning to fuck her hard, putting actual strength behind his motions. A torrent of various profanities began to spill from Pansy's lips with every time that he hit that part deep inside her, and by the time that Harry figured out the correct angle to reach it with every thrust, her mind had gone blank.
"Cum," Harry ordered, and she did. Hard.
When her thoughts returned, she noted that Harry had relaxed, still inside her, but no longer thrusting. Her legs had been released from their position trapped against her chest, and Harry was now resting his weight on his own knees, rather than on top of her.
Fucking… considerate and caring bullshit, fuck. Pansy's thoughts hadn't quite returned to full lucidity.
Her desires, however, didn't require her intellect to be made clear.
Pansy swatted at Harry's face, her hand finding purchase at the side of his neck, where she immediately tightened her grip: not really a choke, per se, but close enough that it sent the same message.
"Who fucking told you to stop?" Pansy actually growled; her words slightly slurred from the lingering remnants of her orgasm.
"Wel-" Harry started some sort of retort, and Pansy shut him up by jamming her thumb between his lips. If you're not going to fuck me however you want to, she thought, I'm going to do it for you.
Guiding him by the digit she had in his mouth, she pulled him to the side, rolling them over so that she was now on top of him. His cock had popped free of her in the change of position, so she reached down, lining him up, then sitting on him hard, sheathing his entire length inside herself in one motion.
As she began to rock her hips back and forth, Pansy pulled her thumb out of his mouth, then slapped Harry across the face with the same hand: once again, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he couldn't mistake her message.
"Get rough with me" were, of course, the unspoken words that she told him, "now."
One of his hands went to her hips, stopping her back-and-forth motion, while the other went to her hair in a flash, his fingers gripping at her scalp, hauling her face back down to his. Pansy resisted the urge to coo in pleasure at his response, but failed entirely at withholding a moan when Harry took her bottom lip between his teeth.
Instead of her riding him, the position had turned to Harry thrusting up against Pansy, holding her still with both the hand in her hair and his grip on her hip, though he certainly took the opportunity to spank her every few moments, the crack of the impact echoing over the moans and curses that Pansy was uttering with even greater frequency.
Her second orgasm of the night was not quite as powerful as the first, but it was a near contest: her body went stiff over him, and a noise halfway between a whimper and a scream tore from her throat as pleasure surged through her body.
Once more, though, Harry had slowed his own thrusts during her climax, and Pansy huffed at the fact that he wasn't prioritizing himself enough.
Time to fix that.
"Mm," she rolled off of him, "that was quite acceptable."
"Was?" Harry asked huskily, repositioning over her again, but she kept her legs together, frustrating his attempt to continue.
"I came twice," Pansy answered, putting a barely-hidden taunt into her tone as she locked eyes with him, "I fail to see what else is necessary."
"Well, I, uh," Harry's gaze flicked down to his erection, practically throbbing in the way it jut from him, "I… are we done?"
Merlin's sake, Potter.
"Harry," her voice was now as sultry as she could possibly manage, "you made me cum. Why don't you make yourself cum now?"
Pansy could practically see the gears turning in his head as he gripped his erection, giving himself a couple hesitant strokes as he looked down at her, apparently thinking that he meant he should simply masturbate to his own orgasm.
Hmm, she thought, that might be a fun scenario later, but take the fucking hint, Harry.
Pansy arched one eyebrow as she pressed her elbows inward, pushing her breasts together and creating a valley of cleavage.
"Actually," Harry replied, finally cluing in, "I think you're going to help me with that."
He shuffled up closer to her, his cock now pointed towards her face. Pansy gasped a moan as Harry's hand returned to her hair, pulling her lips towards his practically twitching member. Pansy didn't bother supressing the moan that escaped around Harry's cock as he pressed it into her mouth, the motion of his hips met equally by the way that he pulled her head into his groin.
Fuck.
Of the many ways in which Pansy was a contradiction in sexual activities, this was perhaps the most obvious that she was aware of: she loved to suck cock, but in her previous experiences with other men, had always resented that it was seen as an expectation.
Harry, of course, was entirely too noble and would never demand head, which only made her want to suck his cock more.
Her head swam pleasurably as Harry began to fuck her face, making sure to slurp and lick at his cock every time he pulled back, his motions slow and careful even though his grip on her hair was delightfully tight.
A thrill ran through her as Harry pulled back, watching her saliva dripping from his cock, as he swung one of his legs over her to straddle her chest. Pansy absolutely loved the look on his face, eyes hooded with lust, as she made a show of spitting between her breasts.
Harry groaned as he slid his cock into the now-wet space in her cleavage, and Pansy moaned in turn as she reached to press her breasts around him, sliding them back and forth tantalizingly. While Pansy certainly had an impressive pair of breasts, so too did Harry have a significant cock, the top third poking out of her cleavage as he began to thrust into her tits.
"Mmmfhh," Pansy moaned incoherently when Harry pulled her head forward once again, taking the head of his cock between her lips when he pushed forward, sucking vigorously every time he entered her mouth.
"Fuck, Pans," Harry groaned, his motions beginning to grow erratic. She met his eyes, opening her mouth wide, and extending her tongue. His wordless moan was all the warning she wanted, as she closed her eyes, feeling his hot cum splashing against her face, over her breasts, and up her neck.
Fuck, I swear I just came a little, she thought, despite how unrealistic this idea felt.
Each of the two panted for breath as Harry flopped off of her, rolling to his side to gaze at her.
"That was hot," Pansy reviewed, wanting to encourage such acts from Harry as much as she could.
"Fuck, yeah," Harry agreed, "here, I'll grab my wand, clean you up."
"No," Pansy decided, "I want to stay like this a bit. Don't you like how I look, covered in your cum?"
"You're beautiful," Harry chuckled, and she felt a blush rising for some ridiculous reason, "and absolutely brilliant."
"I have brilliant tits," she bit her lip when Harry chuckled, reaching to grope one of her breasts in agreement, "I'm glad you finally noticed."
"Oh, I've noticed for years," Harry stretched, before getting up from the bed. He padded over to the nightstand, retrieving a pack of cigarettes, then lighting one for each of them. "Then again, apparently I didn't notice that you were actually flirting with me at all those various social nights, so I can't say I'm the most observant bloke."
"If it makes you feel better," Pansy took a slow drag, luxuriating in the way that nicotine enhanced post-sex buzz, "it took me long enough to figure out that I wanted you to look. I think it started as wanting to frustrate the Golden Boy, y'know?"
Harry chuckled, muttering a cleaning charm before pulling Pansy up against his chest. While she appreciated that Harry wasn't squeamish about his own cum, she equally appreciated the courtesy of not gluing the two of them together with their own fluids.
"You were brilliant tonight," his voice rumbled in his chest, "and not just the sex – that goes without saying – but, really, I know it was hard for you."
"Mm," Pansy made a sound of dismissal, "there's always a lot of history with people from school. I was a bit of a nightmare, after all."
"How d'you feel about it now?" Harry asked, his thumb tracing patterns against her shoulder.
"I dunno," Pansy wasn't too concerned about the specifics, "like… would I do what I did again, now? Of course not. But I don't really regret how I was," she turned to face Harry, "is that terrible?"
"Nah," as with so many things, Harry's ability to just accept her statement was surprising to her, "we were young, mixed up in things that none of us ever should have been, all of us did what we needed to to survive, I figure. You're great now, and that's what counts."
"I'm still a bit of a bitch," Pansy teased, though the compliment left a warm feeling in her chest.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Harry grinned at her, "keeps me on my toes, yeah? And I think Daph likes that the two of you can scheme and gossip like good little snakes."
"You're so sweet," she batted at his chest playfully, "I bet you're nice to all the girls who let you fuck their tits."
"You and Daph?" he smirked, "yeah, pretty much."
"What, really?" Pansy reached down to lightly pat his member, "you poor thing, you've never found anyone who can smother this snake."
It was true enough: though Pansy was a great fan of Daphne's breasts, her girlfriend wasn't as busty as Pansy herself was, and Pansy didn't even have the sheer quantity of breasts required to fully envelop Harry's cock. Maybe one day we'll find someone who can, Pansy idly mused, before she realized that something about that idea sounded fucking hot, derailing that particular train of thought before it could go any further.
Harry certainly hadn't expressed any complaints about either of his girlfriends, (not that he would, we're fucking gorgeous), and Pansy definitely didn't feel insecure about it (considering I was the one who insisted on it), but she had to admit she was curious about what type of woman Harry might pursue if the trio ever made use of the "if we all want to fuck someone, we can" clause in their relationship.
"Maybe I'll wear something low cut to your party," Pansy drawled, making light of her actual worries over the upcoming plan to reveal their relationship to more of Harry's friends, "might distract you when it's your friends I'm being bitchy to."
"As it happens," Harry ruffled the back of her head in a way that might have felt condescending, but absolutely didn't, "I would, in fact, consider Ron a friend of mine, and you seem to have won him over."
"Right, with Quidditch," Pansy snorted. One of the unforeseen consequences of her recent relationship with Daphne and Harry was that she'd been devoting more time to old interests that had fallen by the wayside, no longer concerned with either Pureblood "a Lady shouldn't care about sports" biases or Slytherin "you're just a Quidditch groupie" jibes from the past.
"Maybe we can play one of these days," Harry had a glimmer of excitement in his eye, "I was quite the Seeker, after all."
"Of course," Pansy pinched his side, "big talk from someone who isn't even the best player Gryffindor produced."
"Perhaps I'll start training again," Harry teased back, "try and go pro, yeah? You could be lucky enough to date a Quidditch star!"
"You could be lucky enough to date a brilliant artist and a rising fashion star," Pansy snorted, "oh, wait, you already are."
"Heh," Harry grinned widely, "yeah. Still can't believe how lucky I am, sometimes."
Me neither, she thought.
"I'll do my best," Pansy yawned, starting to feel sleepy in this supremely comfortable state, "when I'm at your party. I still don't think your friends are going to be in favour."
"If they aren't," Harry shrugged, extinguishing his cigarette, taking Pansy's from her and doing the same, "they'll get on board eventually, or I'll stop seeing them. I'm not too worried, Pans, they're good people."
I'm not, one of her insecurities raised its head, but she didn't bother voicing it.
"We'll see, I suppose," Pansy nestled her head into Harry's chest, "at least I've got a couple weeks to prepare."
"You'll be fine," Harry waved his hand, shutting the lights off, "after all, you're brilliant."
Fuck, you two are, Pansy found herself missing Daphne in this moment, which was ridiculous given that she'd just seen her girlfriend hours before. She never would have imagined that she'd find herself with feelings like this for not one person, but two, and yet somehow it felt natural to her.
"Mrf," she muttered, "you are. Night, Harry, I'm sleepy." He kissed the top of her head in response, and she felt his breaths beginning to slow under her.
I suppose we're all lucky, she admitted, as she began to fall asleep.