Sexy Shots (Pansy)

Chapter 5

The bar was just like the bloody hotel itself: over-decorated and overwrought with a name Harry wouldn't be able to pronounce if he lived to be a thousand years old. Harry sipped his ridiculously overpriced and equally unpronounceable multi-coloured drink and swore, yet again, that he wouldn't ever let Lavender Brown or her new agency anywhere near his travel bookings again.

It wasn't that he couldn't afford the place, because he could. He just didn't appreciate the snotty, fawning attitude that came with the price tag. He tossed back the rest of his drink and signalled the bartender for another. There was absolutely no way he could face the white, gold, and green of his tiny room without an alcoholic haze to make the colour scheme bearable.

"Merci," he said, mispronouncing the word horribly, he was sure, when the bartender placed his new drink on the bar in front of him.

The bartender smiled at him anyway. Probably, Harry thought with a cynical twist of his mouth, because of the coins that I've just dropped on the bar. Not that it mattered, so long as the drinks kept on coming.

Harry picked up his glass, licking his lips in anticipation, only to nearly spill it all over himself when an all-too-familiar voice yelled, "Canard!"

Cursing under his breath, he swiped his finger over the liquid that was dribbling down the outside of his glass and then sucked it off. He adamantly did not turn around.

"You bloody bastard. I like this dress."

"Do not turn around," Harry muttered. "Parkinson's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"Ow. Fuck, that hurt."

"Still can take care of herself," he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Let. Me. Go." There was a pause and then a breathy, "Please."

"That fucking does it." Harry slammed his glass down on the bar, splashing alcohol over his hand and the wood. He swiped his fingers on his jeans and was across the room with his wand at the arsehole's throat before he could change his own mind.

"The lady asked you to let her go," Harry said.

"Lady?" The bloke tossed his ridiculously long fringe out of his eyes and gave Harry a disbelieving look. "What have you been drinking?"

"Excuse me?" Parkinson sounded frosty, and Harry didn't blame her after that insult. "Have you lost your mind?"

He dug his wand in a little harder, enough to leave a bruise. "Not enough to walk away and let you maul her."

The bloke threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender and slid his chair backwards. "D'accord. I am leaving. No woman is worth this trouble."

Harry watched the arsehole leave, waiting until he was gone to turn to Parkinson. Before he could so much as open his mouth, she slapped him across the face.

"What in Salazar's name did you think you were doing?" Parkinson flipped her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. "Did I look like I needed you to swagger over here with your Saviour-itis blazing and save me?"


"Did you even think to ask whether I needed help? Or is it all wand first, questions later with you?"

"I didn't—"

"No, you bloody well didn't, did you?" She plucked at the torn strap of a dress that seemed more like a scrap of purple silk twisted around to cover small sections of her curving body than anything Harry had ever seen on a woman before. "What a fucking waste."

"Waste?" Harry was beginning to feel as if he'd stepped into an alternate universe. It was all he could do not to gape at her and look as stupid as he felt.

She narrowed her eyes and examined him from head to foot and back up to his lips. "What did you think was going on, Potter? Did you think you were going to strut over here and save the damsel in distress from the evil villain?"

"What else—" Harry's thought processes stuttered to a halt, and his mouth dropped open. Every single one of the drinks he'd had was swirling around inside him, not helping him to make sense of what had just happened.

"How on earth do you manage to walk upright with so few working brain cells?"

Blinking at her, Harry simply shrugged. If he'd learned nothing else from Ginny while they'd been together, it was that sometimes not saying anything, even to defend himself, was the better part of valour.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake." Parkinson huffed. "You really haven't the faintest idea, have you?"

Harry shrugged again and added in the quirky half-grin that had always worked on Padma.

Tugging on the torn strap that was hanging down from the plunging top of her dress, Parkinson pursed her lips and considered him. Her gaze felt intimate, predatory, and made Harry wish he'd had at least one fewer of those cocktails.

"You know," she said. "It really is the least you can do."

"Erm... the least?"

"Yes," she hissed the last letter contemplatively. "No decent Gryffindor would leave a woman all hot and bothered like this."

"Hot?" The word squeaked out of Harry's throat, and he nearly dropped his wand in shock.

Parkinson moved towards him. The sway of her hips drew Harry's eyes like a magnet. The ragged hem of her skirt alternately hid and exposed the smooth skin of her upper thighs. His mouth dried, and he found himself licking his lips before he could even think to stop himself.

She smoothed a hand over the shoulder of his shirt and hummed appreciatively. "You really are quite fit, you know," she said, almost to herself.

Surrounded by her perfume, feeling as if it was short-circuiting his brain, Harry licked his lips again and said, "Thanks?" He hadn't quite meant it to sound like a question, nor to lean into her touch, but he did both of those things anyway.

"You'll do," she said, trailing her hand down his chest. "Quite nicely, in fact."

Not quite sure what he was agreeing to, Harry nodded. "All right."

She pulled back abruptly. "But not in that state."


A tap of Parkinson's wand on his left temple and a murmured spell sent magic spinning through him. Sobering him up. Harry cursed and sputtered. "What the fuck, Parkinson? Do you always attack without permission or provocation?"

"Oh, I think you've given me more than sufficient provocation." Her voice was soft, almost purring with satisfaction. "Now come on, Potter. There are hours left before morning, and I, for one, plan to wring the most out of every single minute." She paused and gave him a smile that sent a spark of arousal right down into his balls. "And of you."

And with that, she turned to walk towards the door, stopping after a couple of steps to look back at him over her shoulder and crook her finger. "Well, come on, Potter. Time for the hero's — and the damsel's — reward."

The Comte de St Germain suite had at least three rooms, all chock full of antiques, from what Harry saw as he followed Parkinson's swaying hips and marvellously curved arse through the lounge and into the bedroom. And over to the utterly enormous, brilliantly wonderful bed that filled a large part of it.

"Well?" Parkinson leaned back against one of the bedposts and stretched. The purple silk clung precariously to her breasts and rose to the very top of her thighs. For the first time, Harry noticed that her platform shoes were made from the same fabric, thin straps wrapping around her calves, all the way up to mid-thigh.

In less than a second, desire washed away every bit of Harry's confusion and nervousness. Fuck, but he wanted her. His cock was hard, pressing against the lacings that held his dragonhide trousers together.

She stretched again, undulating against the wooden posts, hands gripping the bed curtains, and he decided that her game was so worth playing.

Kicking off his shoes and throwing his socks after them, Harry dropped to his hands and knees, crawled over to her, and settled back on his haunches. Parkinson smiled at him, raised one foot and placed it on his chest.

Harry slid his hands up her foot and leg, soft smooth skin alternating with the warmer flow of silk. He followed them with his mouth, licking and kissing and nibbling. Her skin shivered beneath his touch, and a hissed sigh escaped from her mouth.

When Harry reached the bow at the top of the criss-cross straps of her shoes, he reached down and moved her foot to his shoulder instead of undoing them. Then he pressed forward, dragging his mouth, lips, and the edge of his teeth up her inner thigh, forcing her to bend her leg outwards.

"Hold on," he said, barely giving her time to obey before pressing his lips against her fragile silk panties.

"Fuck, Potter." She adjusted her stance and reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair, tilting her hips to push against his mouth and pulling his head into her.

He breathed in her scent and then flicked the tip of his tongue against her covered clitoris. Over and over, he alternated between flicking and suckling. The silk became soaked with his saliva and her arousal. His erection started to hurt, confined as it was, but he pushed that aside and focussed on her. On her whimpers and words of encouragement.

Then she swore again, and her hand left his hair to shove between his mouth and her clitoris, yanking her panties aside, wobbling as she spread her legs further to give him better access.

When his tongue snaked between her vulva to reach her clitoris, when he could taste her, close his lips on her and suckle, her hand returned to his hair and her long, painted nails clawed at his scalp, and she came with a triumphant burst of sound and movement that shot through him to his balls.

Harry rose to his feet slowly, slithering up her body, leaving his thumb on her clit and pressing a finger inside her. She gave him another predatory smile and twisted her hips to get his finger in deeper.

"If I'd know you had this in you," Parkinson said, and then kissed him. Her tongue thrust into his mouth with the same rhythm that she undulated against his hand.

He hummed in agreement.

As they kissed, they shifted sideways and upwards until Parkinson was lying down on the bed and Harry was on top of her. He moved his finger inside her, his thumb against her clitoris, rubbed his cock against the sharp edge of her hipbone.

Parkinson pulled back. "Stop."

Biting back a refusal, he moved his finger and smirked at the wetness of the sound that made.

"Clothes," she said. "Off."

Damn, but she was brilliant, Harry thought as his fingers fumbled over the tie of his laces.

After a few seconds, her wand sliced through the air behind his back, and their clothes vanished. His wand clattered against the floor, and Parkinson placed hers on one of the many pillows. Harry grinned at her, dropped a kiss on her lips, and rolled them both until they were in the middle of the bed.

Parkinson wrapped her legs around his waist, but Harry hesitated, raising himself up on one elbow to look into her eyes. "Protection?" he asked.

"Oh, Potter. So gallant." Her smile was somehow both amused and incandescent, and made her usually hard-edged face look beautiful in a way he hadn't imagined possible.

"Just sensible," he said, trying to shrug off his embarrassment.

"More than some men," she said. "No worries, though. I'm on the potions and the charms."

"Me too," he said, then after a moment's thought, asked, "Sheath charm?"

She made a face, but nodded and reached for her wand. The charm wrapped around his cock, squeezing lightly, causing his hips to jerk forwards, before encasing his cock in a shimmer of warm, arousing magic.

"Damn," he said, and she smirked at him.

"I have a talent for Charms."

"And you use it very well."

Harry moved down and concentrated his attentions to her breasts. He stretched out over her, aware of his weight pressing down on her. Balancing on his elbows, he toyed with her nipples, alternating pinching and then sucking on each one. Her perfume, the faint saltiness of her sweat, overwhelmed him, enticed him, made him want more.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Parkinson bent one leg, and flexed and twisted her body. Harry moved automatically, not wanting to hurt her, and suddenly, he was lying beneath her.

He blinked up at her in surprise.

"You thought you'd get all the fun?" she asked.

"You think I'm going to complain?"

Her lips were soft against his jaw and neck. He curved his neck back, giving her access as she scraped her teeth over his Adam's apple. When he reached for her, she sat back. His hard cock was pressed between the soft folds of her labia.

He grinned at her and grasped for her hips, thrusting up and groaning as his cock slid through wetness.

Wriggling, teasing him, she caressed his chest and stomach, twisting and rolling his nipples. A long, hard fingernail dug lightly into his navel and sent an electric shock through him.

She shifted backwards, dragging her clit down his damp cock, and then grinning mischievously at him, she took him into her mouth.

"Merlin's... fuck," he moaned, clawing at the duvet, digging in his toes, and trying not to thrust up into her mouth. Not to come with the first suck that seemed to draw everything in him to his cock.

She took him to the edge and stopped.

He was still cursing her, reaching for her, as she writhed up his body, dragging her skin over the head of his cock, canting her hips to rub herself against him. Again and again, until he was begging, "please, Parkinson, please."

As soon as the plea was out of his mouth, she wrapped her hand around his cock, positioned it, and sank down onto it.

They moved together. So slowly at first that it was almost painful, then faster and faster, harder and harder. When Harry reached the edge, when his cock hardened, his balls drew up, the pins and needles gathered at the base of his spine, he slid a finger against her clitoris.

"Yes," she hissed, grinding down on him as he thrust up into her. Blackness gathered at the edges of his vision, she clamped down around him, muscles undulating, and he came in waves

Afterwards, they stared at each other. Her eyes were heavy with satisfaction, hooded, and her lips were curved. He couldn't have got it up to save his life, but he still wanted her. To feel her in his arms, to learn every inch of her body. To take her to the edge and find out how long he could hold her there before she fell screaming into orgasm.

Before he could come up with a single word to explain any of that, she raised herself off him, letting his softened cock fall against his skin, wet and warm.

She reached for her wand, gave it a flick and a swish, and a Cleaning charm wafted over him. Then she slid under the covers and contemplated him.

Despite the urge to crawl in with her, he said, "I could leave if you want." His reluctance was so clear in his voice, he didn't think she could miss it.

"And if I don't want?"

Relief brought a grin to his face. "I'd crawl into bed with you, offer to bring you breakfast in bed when we wake up, and ask if it was all right to call you Pansy."

She lifted the covers up in invitation, and when he joined her beneath them, prodded at him until he moved into the right position for her to curl up in his arms.

Her head was on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his chest, and one leg between his. Harry closed his eyes. She felt smaller than he'd ever imagined she could be, but she also felt just right.

"Night, Pansy."

There was a pause, during which he could feel his heart speed up, and then she pressed a kiss against his chest and said, "Night, Harry."

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, wondering what kind of thank-you gift he should buy Lavender when he got back home.