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Even Pansy could admit, that there were many things that she should have done different in her life.
A few moments came to mind. She shouldn’t have revealed where Potter was in the Great Hall. She should never have snuck out of the Slytherin Common Room during her sixth year to shag Draco—that detention wasn’t fun to explain. Merlin knew, one of the worst decisions she made, was to go to a Quidditch Cup match while she was travelling around the world. How could she have predicted that she’d trip, fall and break her ankle—all while the press was around?
Accepting an invitation to a bloody holiday party, even one to Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott’s sex club, was a choice Pansy knew she would never say she’d regret. No matter how much it was going to end up haunting her. And bloody hell, for a holiday party there were no question in her mind that this would haunt her beyond reason.
Pansy could deny that maybe, just maybe, bringing Adrian Pucey as her date to this particular party was bloody bad idea. A sex club was one thing. A holiday party another. A combined masked holiday sex party, while Pansy’s previous relationship of two years was in the same room; that was a whole different problem.
Whoever thought that it was a good idea to invite Auror Alastor-fucking-Moody to this sex club—that was, at best, toeing the line of legality—was absolutely out of their bloody mind.
Then again, given the fact that Blaise and Theo were the proprietors of the establishment, had Pansy realizing that insanity wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. They had no idea what they had asked Pansy to step into that night. It was also possible they had no idea she had been shagging Alastor for the better part of two years. That situation causing more problems for her father than it solved.
She had been careful to ignore him when she walked in the doors— even the simple fact that she knew he was there was ridiculous. Pansy was intimately aware of how horrible her self-control was when it came to Alastor Moody. It had resulted in more than a few awkward interaction at Pure-Blood society functions, even after one, or both, of them had already sworn they would never do it again. Without fail, they found themselves against a bloody door, with her knickers torn on the floor.
Up until a few months ago, she would have said that it was the best part of her life. Except for the fact that it couldn’t be anything more than their physical attraction.
Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to avoid Alastor tonight, which moved right to the very top of her priority list. Instead, she reminded herself that she should really go back to focusing on her date.
But Merlin, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Adrian kept nibbling on her fucking neck, distracting her from everything in the room, she knew exactly where her attention would be glued. It would be on the man with the long hair, always a bit mussed from running his hand though it, a tinged red in a way that was appealing—it wasn’t remotely like the Weasley's. Her thoughts drifted to the gash from the war that ran across his cheekbone. Pansy knew it far too intimately for her own sanity; the way that the skin was raised and the impossible smoothness of the surrounding skin. She wanted to get her hands on a time-turner and go scream at the healers that hadn’t done their job well, but that was far too akin to showing how much she actually cared about the man.
Rather than continuing to let herself think about Alastor, Pansy let her fingernails drag against Adrian’s forearm, leaning against him while his fingers brushed underneath the lace of her lingerie. He was talking to Flint about something that hadn't captured her attention, something that kept sounding like investment strategies.
And truthfully—honestly—who the fuck was going to be talking about investment strategies when Pansy was pretty fucking sure she saw Lavender Brown walking around with next to absolutely nothing on?
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He shouldn’t have been as keenly aware when Pansy walked into the club, but he was painfully tuned into the woman as she stood next to Adrian Pucey, hip jutted out, leaning into him. Her fingers were wrapped around the twats bicep, as though she belonged there, wearing what he could only describe as lacey lingerie. Even in the dark room, the little bits of Christmas sprinkled through the club and the candles floating in the air, filling the room with golden light flickered across her skin and Alastor couldn’t help the fact that he instantly recognized her.
He really—truly—should have known better.
That woman had never been one to pass up the possibility of an interesting party, especially one where something controversial could happen. Add in a themed holiday party, where two of her oldest friends were the ones throwing it—Alastor should have known she would be here. The reality was that she thrived in an environment that had little boundaries outside of consent, where she knew the people and where the witch was free to be herself.
When Pansy had arrived, he felt that bloody pull towards her, even with the delicate mask covering most of her face. He knew how her hips curved, that little tiny fluttering tattoo of a hummingbird that was partially obscured by the lace on her hip. He knew the way that her waist swooped inward and the delicate dip that it always seemed to have, even when she had complained to him about the weight that she supposedly put on. Which was, truthfully, one of the most ridiculous things that he had ever heard. But what always got underneath his skin, got his blood rushing, was knowing exactly what it was like when her back arched and he had settled his face in her cunt, his fingers buried inside of her and that ring of his steadily humming against her until he’d managed to pull his name from the back of her throat. The way that he memorized her screams echoing against the walls the various rooms he’d pulled her into, was going to haunt his dreams until his death.
It was why he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, even when Kingsley Shacklebolt elbowed his side, “Mate.”
“What?” Alastor snapped, not bothering to look at his partner as he watched Adrian slip his fingers underneath the fabric of her outfit, caressing her side. “Bloody hell, Kings, what do you need?”
“You’re distracted,” he said, clearing his throat for a moment before he flicked his eyes to see where Moody was looking. “We’re supposed to be keeping an eye on any potentially illegal activity happening, not staring at the patrons.”
“When one of the patrons is my girlfriend—”
“To be fair, she’s not your girlfriend," Kingsley interrupted quickly.
“Fuck off,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I am making sure there are no illegal deals being made here. I am watching a few of our most suspicious targets.”
“I still think this was one of the more ridiculous ideas that our Minister has had.” Kingsley scoffed, as he lightly scratched his chin.
“I think that our Minster just wanted to see if we would take the bite and go to a sex club,” Alastor grumbled, his eyes still focused on the brunette.
“I don’t think he expected that you would go through with it, while you are still obsessed with the Parkinson girl.”
Alastor didn’t even acknowledge that, moving away from his partner when he saw Pansy pull back from Adrian. It appeared that she was heading to get a drink.
"Excuse me, Kings." He didn't wait to hear a response from his friend.
Before Pansy got to her intended destination, he snagged her elbow, pulling her around the corner and pressing her against the wall. “What, exactly, are you thinking coming here with that arsehole?”
“I was thinking, that you and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. I was thinking, that there was no way that you were going to be at this particular party given who is throwing it and—”
“You mean, you didn't think, even when you actually having a dalliance with someone that I could be fucking investigating?”
“Merlin, Alastor,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes at the man before she let out a heavy sigh, clearing her throat. “I'm not exactly looking to get involved in your investigations, even if my life depended on it.”
“You’re not—”
“But I am fucking Adrian, if that was your actual goal to find out from me.”
Alastor stilled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the witch in front of him, clearing his throat. “It’s a Christmas event. I was invited.”
“And?” Pansy lifted one of her eyebrows, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel the firm lines of his body pressed against hers. “I fail to see your point.”
“Well, you’re supposed to have some sense of decorum, Parkinson.” Alastor knew that he was grasping for something there, but he wasn’t about to tell her what it was that was running through his mind right then, not when it meant that she would know that she was still underneath his skin. “Merlin.”
“Alastor?” She huffed at him, her eyebrow still raised.
“What?”
“You’re literally standing in a sex club, right now. What did you think I would be doing here?”
He snapped his mouth shut, pausing for a moment as he looked at her. There was no way that he had a leg to stand on when it came to her, and he wasn’t sure that Pansy knew that he had regretted his decisions. His nostrils flared as his eyes flicked down to her breasts, appearing to be just a tad too big for the lace they were encased in. Alastor finally met her eyes again, the smirk on her lips absolutely clear that he hadn’t been as covert as he’d hoped.
“That—right there—is exactly my point, Alastor. This outfit is rather… well, tame compared to the typical sense of decorum for these events.” Leaning in and patting his chest, pressing her lips against his cheek for a moment before pulling back slightly, whispering in his ear, “Don’t go too insane when you find someone to your liking, big boy.”
Alastor had prided himself in thinking every single thing through, before he did them.
He had thought about the potential risks during a duel, when he had known that there was a potential to get injured when he started that particular fight, causing him to have a limp. He had thought through protecting his partner when stepping into a curse from the younger Lestrange that had almost cost him his eye, leaving a scar as a reminder to what this job could cost him. He had also thought through starting up a rather impossible—ridiculous—affair with the Parkinson. That, in itself, happened to be one of the few things in his life that he considered an absolute failure.
But he didn’t think through grabbing Pansy’s wrist when she twisted away from him. He didn’t think through the fact that he hauled her back against him. And he most definitely, completely, certainly, didn’t think it through as he fused his lips against her and swallowed the moan that escaped her lips. This was not remotely part of the plan when he was assigned this case. When he was told that the higher ups thought that there was something going on with Zabini and Nott’s fucking sex club.
Pansy had never even entered his thoughts—she was not supposed to be here.
Yet, she had showed up with Adrian-bloody-Pucey, a bloody nightmare of a man that Alastor hadn’t been able to tolerate, even before he had the ridiculous notion that he could touch Pansy. The thoughts of what Alastor wanted to do to Pucey, weren’t ones that ensured he could keep his job, or his freedom.
It was a motivator for why he didn’t want her to second guess what was happening right then, part of why he didn’t let her get a word in when normally her mouth wouldn’t stop moving. That was certainly a contributor as to why his hands moved down her body, fingers wrapping around her hips and squeezing as he hauled her up and off her feet, her legs wrapping around his waist. Just as he was licking her bottom lip, however, she bit down hard and he pulled back to growl. “Parkinson!” Alastor snapped.
“I’m not yours anymore, Moody,” she muttered, kissing across his jaw. “And you don’t get to fucking pretend that I am, just because you’re bloody jealous.”
“I’m not—” Alastor didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying before she was dropping her legs from around his waist and her feet were on the floor again, the clack of her heels barely making a noticeable noise over the music. He tugged her back towards him, as she tried to move away, his arms still encircling her waist. “I am not jealous of a boy who couldn’t possibly know how to make you scream, kitten, so you don’t have to worry about my feelings.”
Pressing a hand against his chest, Pansy twisted herself out of his grasp, before she let out another soft breath, “And yet, I'm still going to get back to my date.”
There were a lot of things that Alastor knew he’d done wrong over the years, there was no question about that. But one of the things that he was utterly convinced he had done right, despite having not thought through all the logistics, was somehow managing to keep the attention of Pansy Parkinson. Of everything that Alastor could have said, however, he knew that his greatest mistake would be simply letting Pansy walk away as though she didn’t matter an ounce to him a second time. He had done it before and he had spent the last four months regretting it.
It was why, in a split second, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist again and stopped her from moving away from him. “Pansy,” he pleaded.
“Alastor,” she said, shaking her head. “I really need to go.”
“Just because that boy knows how to make you come quickly, doesn’t mean that he knows how to draw it out. Pans, it certainly doesn’t mean that he is going to give you anything that is worthwhile or anything that is long-lasting.”
“It doesn’t mean that’s remotely what I want either, Alastor,” she snapped, shaking her head. Salazar, he drove her bloody mad; it was something that she had liked, once upon a time, but she never knew when he’d decided to be present and there. She questioned his dedication—whether the man would ever choose her over the Ministry. In the end, she was the one that couldn’t tolerate it anymore and had to let him go.
“Then tell me what the fuck it is that you want, Pansy.” She could hear the frustrated edge of his voice, the fact that he was struggling to maintain his control.
She hesitated just then—tensing at the question. It was the first time in all their time together that he had asked her, besides when they were in bed together. Pansy couldn’t even begin to put to words what it was that she wanted from the man, because it was all the intangibles. They’d tried a thousand things over in their time together, and the reality was that neither of them were in a position to give what she actually wanted—and Pansy definitely didn’t know how they were supposed to get themselves there after all the times they have tried.
Pansy wasn’t a child anymore—neither was Alastor—and shagging in the back of pubs and bathroom stalls, hiding from her friends, and pretending as though she wasn’t sleeping with a man that was a decade her senior, just simply wasn’t in the cards. At best, Alastor was most assuredly one of her closest friend’s boss and Draco might—quite literally—kill Pansy if he knew that she’d been sleeping with Alastor Moody for as long as they had.
“From you?” Pansy asked carefully, her eyes flicking to his lips before she let out a soft breath, swallowing hard. “Nothing, Moody.”
“Pans—”
“I’ll see you around,” Pansy whispered, slipping out of his grasp before he could stop her again, flouncing right around the corner to her date and smoothing a hand against his chest.
Alastor watched the whole thing, more than painfully aware of the fact that all he could do was watch her slide back into Pucey’s arms, Alastor grinding his teeth together before he glanced back around the club. This fucking impossible club that Pansy knew had been on the Ministry’s radar for at least as long as they have known each other. Though, he had to admit that he was pretty certain Zabini and Nott knew they would have eyes on this particular kind of establishment and while the club might not be a problem, some of their clients definitely were.
Alastor was supposed to be focused on the patrons of this particular club—not on the fact that the Parkinson heiress was there with someone else. Most certainly, he should not be focused on the fact that he wanted to figure out a manageable reality with his witch. His attention wasn’t supposed to be split when he was working, and he wasn’t sure he could focus on his assignment as long as she was there with Adrian— who was currently slipping his fingers under that ridiculous outfit of hers. He really needed to stop looking over there. His target tonight was Lucius Malfoy and not watching what was currently happening between Pansy and Adrian.
“Where in Merlin’s name did you fucking go, Moody?” Kingsley asked, his eyes flicking around the club. “Did you know that it was like this here? Robes are apparently optional, at best.”
“Like a bloody sex club? What did you expect?”
“The Muggle’s would have a field day with something like this,”. Kingsley muttered with a shake of his head, clearing his throat. “They have things like this on their law books. They’re fucking illegal.”
“Nah,” Alastor said with a shrug, clearing his throat and shifting his gaze away from Pansy, refusing to let himself look at her again. “They have the one where you’re paying to shag someone that aren’t legal.”
“What?”
Alastor fully turned to look at Kingsley, chuckling at the Santa hat that was askew on his head as he bit back a smile. “I think that you don’t exactly have a lot of room to talk, given that you’re here,” he chuckled.
“For work,” Kingsley snapped, a frown building.
“And you keep talking about becoming Minister of Magic one day, and yet here you—”
“Shut your blood mouth about that here!” Kingsley snapped with a shake of his head, clearing his throat. “Besides, you have a better shot at that than I do, that’s for bloody certain.”
“Trust me, I don’t.”
“You’ve got more high profile arrests.”
“You attempted to arrest Dumbledore.” Moody said amused, watching Kingsley's reaction.
“And?” the man shrugged, apparently not worried about what that could mean for his future in politics.
“Those high profile arrests go both ways, Kings. It doesn’t mean that I have a shot."
“It actually—”
“And it certainly doesn’t mean that I want one,” Alastor said, flicking his eyes at Kingsley before he shook his head. “We’re here to make sure that there’s nothing illegal going on tonight, nothing more. We aren’t supposed to be here debating what is and isn’t legal.”
“Not that it would stop Nott’s son from running it—it would just mean that it’s more illegal.”
Alastor’s lips quirked up into a smirk, tilting his head to the side, “Good business model and a way of managing to clean up their finances? I am pretty bloody sure that Tiberius is rolling over in his grave knowing his son has taken the finances to be at least mostly legit.”
“Merlin,” Kingsley muttered.
Clearing his throat, Alastor didn’t say anything more, watching the couples—some bolder than others—and some still figuring out what they wanted to do. And the singles? Well, there were certainly more of those milling around, looking for someone to connect with.
“Did you speak to Parkinson?” Kingsley asked suddenly. “Don't think I didn't notice you go after her, I thought that you—”
“I did.” he said with a shrug. “She’s with Adrian Pucey tonight.”
“Right.”
“What?” Alastor said, his eyes hard when he looked at him. “We haven’t been together for months now.”
“Adrian Pucey?” Kingsley asked with a laugh, shaking his head. “I have to say, I didn’t expect him be her type.”
“Bloody hell,” Alastor muttered.
“I mean, I suppose that his vault is a lot more robust than yours is, but—”
“My vault is fine,” he snapped. “Everything is fine, it just—”
Alastor didn’t say anything more, trying to ignore the fact that Pucey’s hand had dropped lower, fingers hidden behind the lace of Pansy’s outfit. “I think that this needs to be a conversation for a different day.”
“I think today is a rather great day to have the conversation,” his partner said with a shrug of his shoulder. “I mean, what better day than the day that you’re forced to realize that you might have misstepped?”
“I didn’t misstep,” Alastor growled.
“Misstepped,” Kingsley repeated, clearing his throat. “Did you see that Malfoy was here?”
“Senior or Junior?”
“Senior.”
“Well, that could be a problem,” Alastor muttered, running a hand through his hair before he let out a slow breath. “With or without his wife?”
“Without, of course,” Kingsley said with a chuckle. “Who would come to a place like this with their wife?”
“Oh, my poor, naive little Kings,” Alastor said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Why don't you keep an eye on Lucius and I will continue to keep an eye out for anything else going on.”
“You mean, keep an eye out for Parkinson getting into trouble?”
“No, I mean—” Alastor’s eyes unconsciously went to where he had last seen Pansy, swallowing hard when she wasn’t there anymore, lost somewhere in the crowd. “I meant, for anything that was illegal. Whatever she’s here for isn’t illegal.”
“You just might end up in a holding cell,” Kingsley said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t understand why you don’t just talk—”
“Kings, I swear,” Alastor said with a grumble, shaking his head, “I don’t have the mental energy to—”
“Five o’clock,” he said, clapping the man on his shoulder before he cleared his throat. “Mate, I am going to take Lucius right now. You can deal with whatever it is that is going on there.”
When Alastor looked over to where Kingsley was indicating, he could feel the air shift around him with the anger building inside him. He would say later that he hadn't considered actually punching someone in the face, because they were touching Pansy, but that would have been a ridiculous lie. One that he definitely wasn’t going to be able to pass off to save his own life—Alastor was at least aware of that. The facts, however, were immeasurably different and the reality was that he was fairly certain he broke at least one of his fingers, while ensuring that something on Adrian was broken as well.
Pansy, at least, had a measure of sense to make sure that she had scrambled right out of the way, and out of Adrian’s grasp, when she’d seen the look in Alastor’s eyes as he made his way around the crowd.
“What in the—”
“I can’t believe that you—”
“—are you thinking, Pansy? He—”
“—you cannot even—”
“—is a fucking criminal and—”
“I’m not your bloody girlfriend, Alastor!” Pansy shouted, shoving his chest, sucking in heavy breaths as she looked at him, her eyebrows pulled together. Gulping air, she shook her head again, before meeting his gaze, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Me?” Alastor snapped. “You knew that I would be watching and you were letting him do whatever he wanted? Is that what was happening there, because he ripped—”
“Of course he did!” she snapped, lifting her arms up and slamming them back down against her sides. “Bloody hell, where is it that you do you think that we are?”
“Not somewhere that you should—”
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence.”
Alastor finally came to his senses and shut his mouth, watching her for a few seconds before he grabbed her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as he started tugging her away from the crowd. He led them into the first room he could find, shutting the door behind them and turning to face her. “What the fuck were you thinking, Pansy?”
“I was thinking that I’m not beholden to anyone. I was thinking that I’m in a bloody club and no one is going to care if my breasts are out. I was thinking that I decide who I do, or do not, take to bed.”
If Pansy had any inclination that she was going to be tempting fate, by coming to this event tonight, she probably would have made her excuses and opted to staying in her flat. Or, for that matter, go anywhere else in London. But she hadn’t known that Alastor would be here. If she had known, she would have made other questionable decisions, that definitely didn’t involve another man. Pansy knew that she would have worn something different, and made so many other decisions that would not have ended in her being in this very moment.
“I’m not saying that I fucking control you, Parkinson,” Alastor snapped, shaking his head. “But he was—”
“What he was or wasn't doing, is none of your business.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” Alastor growled, shoving his hands in his pockets, before he finally looked around the room they were in.
Whatever Nott and Zabini had come up with when this building was imagined, Alastor would never know, but this room was beyond his imagination. The space managed to transform into a combination of both of his and Pansy's bedrooms—somehow made it their space, even when the reality was that they have never attempted to live together. Up until that moment, he didn’t realize that he wanted just that.
Pansy must have noticed as she said softly, “It changes, depending on the people that enter the room.” Her arms crossing over her chest as she looked at him, biting her lip. “I don’t think that either Theo or Blaise have seen your room, so there must sentient magic connected to our memories.”
“I really wish you hadn’t come here with him, Kitten.” Alastor blurted out instead of addressing her statement, his eyes flicking to hers for a moment, before looking back around the room.
“Alastor, for Merlin's sake,” Pansy said, running a hand through her hair. “I’m pretty sure that you broke his fucking nose.”
“If it helps, I'm sure I broke my hand,” he shrugged. “It was fucking worth it.”
Pansy looked at him or a few beats. “Give it to me,” she said, motioning towards him and holding a hand out.
“Pansy—”
“Fucking now, Alastor.” Letting out a huff, Pansy watched as he moved towards her and across the room, placing his bruised hand in hers. She let out a huff of annoyance.
He really was far too beautiful for his own good—and truthfully Pansy wasn't sure she knew what to do with him. Her heart lurched with the memory of the first time she felt that way.
She’d known that she was incredibly turned on by him, the moment that he walked into Mungo’s, just over two years ago, with his stubborn as all hell attitude. Alastor was sporting a gash across his arm which he was refusing to have healed. The first thing she had noticed was that he was was deliciously attractive, and every moment they have spent together since then hadn’t helped curb her intense desire for him—it had only made it impossibly worse.
“You absolutely broke it," she confirmed, as she continued to prod around his injured fingers.
“Not the first time,” he said roughly, breathing in deeply when she poked at one of the spots, a flash of pain shooting through his hand. “Godric, don’t do that.”
“It’s not shattered,” she said quietly, carefully flipping his hand over and tracing the lines of his palm before she looked up at him. “You’re impossible, you know.”
“I’m not," he argued back.
“You are,” Pansy muttered back, not allowing him to argue any further. “You are impossible. We broke up, Alastor. We broke up, because of all the things that neither of us were willing to compromise on, and I’m not a fucking child wanting to play and—”
“I don’t want a child," he scoffed, furrowing his brows.
“I’m not saying it like that,” Pansy snapped, her eyes hardened as she looked at him, before she grumbled. “Go sit down.”
“Pans—”
“Sit down,” she bit out, carefully shifting her lingerie and tucking the broken strap in. She was doing her best to secure herself from falling completely out. “Merlin, you are always the most difficult patient—”
“I’m not your patient.”
“You’re always my patient,” she muttered, shifting and standing between his knees as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Which is part of our problems.”
“I don’t see—”
“Yes, you do,” Pansy said, before she nudged his head back so she could see his green eyes, a small smile on her lips. “And I know you do, because you’ve said it a thousand times.”
“I don’t like when you’re difficult either, I have said that a lot and yet—”
Pansy narrowed her eyes at Alastor for a moment before she poked his chest, “Don’t do that.”
“What?” Alastor said, smirking as he looked at her. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Don’t lie.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, Pansy shifted to straddle him. She took his hand between both of hers and let breathed out softly. “You like when I’m difficult, you hate being my patient, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you punched Adrian. Now, I had to check my wand before I came in, but—”
“Your friends wouldn’t let you keep it?”
“—I need you to just keep breathing and not distract me,” she whispered, closing her eyes and letting out another slow breath, pushing her magic towards him, feeling it pulse out through her hands. It was always an odd sensation when she used wandless healing, a fluttering through her system as everything seemed to shift. It wasn’t something that she would normally try, but it was for Alastor. The only person in the world, who managed to keep her coming back again and again.
Merlin, Alastor was someone that Pansy couldn’t keep away from, even if it was better for both of them. He certainly wasn’t someone she could leave in pain. That was why she was in this room, her hands on him, feeling his bones knit themselves back together underneath her fingertips.
A sigh of relief escaped Alastor’s lips, as the pain dissipated from his body. What was remaining was just simple, blissful, unexplainable peace with little ripples of pleasure that sent a shiver down his spine. It was rare to have Pansy heal him like this— they were normally in the healing wards of St Mungo’s, constrained by rules where she wasn’t supposed to. Besides that, she wasn’t supposed to be able to do wandless magic that required this much healing. Being an Animagus came with some additional benefits for Pansy. An ode to the term of endearment he gave her, when he had learned she was able to turn into a black cat.
The only other time that she’d even attempted it, was when he'd finally made it back to his flat, wincing from pain after he had done something to his leg, causing his muscles to knot and tense. Pansy had been waiting for him, immediately recognizing his pain. Her annoyance bled into her working her magic into his muscular leg, causing the knots to release, and ended in Alastor asleep on the couch with soft snores escaping his mouth.
The feeling of her magic pulsing in his hand was like nothing he had felt before. The pain had subsided and what remained was something that he couldn’t begin to handle, while at the same time feeling his cock harden.
“Oh Merlin,” he muttered, his eyelids sliding closed before he reached for Pansy’s hip and giving it a tight squeeze. “You need to stop.”
“What?” Pansy said, startled out of her thoughts as her movements stilled, her own eyes opening and meeting his. The way that his pupils were blown out put Pansy on fire, her skin tingling. She straighten on his lap, dropping his hands which quickly reached for the other side of her hips.
“If you weren’t lying earlier, you really need to stop,” Alastor whispered, brushing a hand up her side, his thumb pressing against the underside of her breast and clearing his throat. “If you don’t want this, then you need to stop me.”
Pansy’s eyes searched his face before she reached for him, placing both hands on either side of his face, and smashed her mouth against his. Both of them groaned when he slid his tongue in her mouth, his hands moving to cup her breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze. It was far too easy for her to tip him backwards, landing against the bed as she sat up, shifting and adjusting herself so her barely covered cunt was pressed against the heat of him. A soft whimper escaped her lips. “Alastor—”
“You aren’t supposed to tease, Pans,” he muttered, shifting himself up to press into her more, causing her to moan. When she raked her fingers down his shirt, he sat up quickly, peeling the fabric off and tossing it away from them, before he wrapped his arm around her waist, and pressed kisses up the column of her neck. “You aren’t supposed to tempt fate.”
“Fate tells me otherwise,” she muttered, her fingers digging into his shoulders, letting out a soft gasp when he nipped at her ear. “We’re tempting fate just being here.”
“Or,” he started, sucking a mark into her neck and enjoying the way that she arched into him. “Or we’re fated to keep ending up together.”
“Alastor–” Pansy stopped talking when he shifted, flipping them over on the bed and her back landed against the soft comforter. A yelp of surprise escaping her lips. She realized what he was about to do. “Don’t—”
Alastor didn’t give her a chance to finish before he tore the fabric from between her legs, his fingers dancing up her thigh, letting out another loud groan when he felt the wetness gathered there. “Bloody hell, woman, you’re—”
“I don’t have anything else to bloody wear, Alastor,” Pansy scolded, sucking in a breath when he pinched her nipple. “Merlin.”
“Love, stop thinking so much,” he muttered, crawling down her body and pressing a kiss against her knee. “I’ll figure something out. Later.”
“But this—”
“I’ll buy you another one,” he said, licking up her thigh. “You’re going to be glad I did that anyways.”
“You’re such a fucking—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish before he pressed his tongue against her clit, slowly circling around her little bundle, before he felt her hips stutter at the movement. He resisted the urge to smirk. “Now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss there. “You’re not going to come until I say so.”
“Alastor!” Pansy snapped, wrapping a leg around his chest, pressing her heel against his back. “Not this time, just—”
He pressed another kiss against her, pausing what she was about to say, before he slowly slid his fingers through her folds and gathered the wetness there. The sharp intake of breath from Pansy was enough for Alastor to know he was on the right track, spurring him to covering her with his mouth again and sucking on the little bundle of nerves, the woman shuddering underneath, swallowing a moan with his name escaping her lips.
Pansy initially felt relief when the warmth of his mouth covered her, the almost gentle suck making her shiver in delight as she tried to press closer to his fingers, tried to get him to fill and stretch her with the digits, before she felt him pull back. Pansy wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, until he pressed his tongue inside her, causing her to let out a stuttering gasp. His just healed thumb, however, was not what Pansy had expected, pressing against her clit and rubbing in quick circles, timing it with his tongue, sending her hurdling towards her orgasm, her cunt clenching.
And then suddenly, without warning, he was gone. His tongue missing from inside her and his fingers not pushing her closer to the edge of oblivion. Pansy was left feeling cold, despite the fact that he was still right there, his hot breath tickling her sensitive skin. “Wha—” she started, forcing her eyes open as she shifted herself on her elbow to look at him. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll earn it,” Alastor said, pressing a kiss against her thigh, nipping at the skin. “When you come, it won’t be because you were going to do so without me saying you could, kitten. This isn't one of those time to get off in the quickest way possible, using that against me later. It’ll be when you’re bloody ready to."
“What? No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “Alastor, I need—”
Shifting his body up her own, Alastor pressed his lips against hers, devouring her mouth for a few moments before he pulled away, hovering over her. “You aren’t never going to make it out that someone else can get you off better than me. Never again, Parkinson.”
Pansy sucked in a breath as he watched her from above, barely able pull air into her lungs, as she saw that all too familiar, dangerous glint, in his eyes.
“Do you have anything else to say, Pans?” Alastor said, grinning before he dropped a kiss against her shoulder. “Are there any other things that you need to be taught a lesson on?”
“N–no,” she said, knotting her fingers into his hair and dragging his mouth back to hers, before she let out a soft puff of air. “Alastor—”
“Yes?” He asked carefully, watching her face.
“I am sorry,” Pansy whispered, clearing her throat.
Alastor didn’t say anything, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers, before he nodded.
"May I?" He pointed at her wrist, laying above her head. She nodded and felt her wrist being tied together, leaving her even more exposed to him. Instead of using his words, he slid back down her tapered waist and pressed a kiss against her cunt. It felt more fitting for him to apologise this way, rather than uttering a million words of excuses as to why they wouldn’t work, which may or may not be enough. There was nothing that would change the fact that he needed his witch, this incredible woman, morning, noon, and night.
As another way of answer his acceptance and his own pleas for forgiveness, he pressed his fingers inside of her, pushing fully in, and giving her a few moments to adjust. Covering that little bundle of nerves with his mouth, he started sucking hard, lifting his eyes as he watched her keen and arch up off of the bed, her breathing stuttering. This was what he loved to see, her simply lost in what he was making her feel, out of control. Pansy enjoyed being the one in control of everything, and knowing that it was only ever, truly, right with him. What Alastor enjoyed, was releasing that control when he could, studying her over the years to learn every breath, hitch, movement, moan of pleasure, that would lead to her ultimate pleasure.
It was why he knew when she was getting close, when her muscles were tightening around his fingers, he he pulled away from her, watching her cunt clench around nothing. The whine that escaped her was divine, his name slipping out from her lips in complete frustration. If he didn’t know any better, Alastor would have said that he could get off just on this; the moment that Pansy turned into a whimpering mess.
“Pretty little witch,” he breathed out, smoothing his hands up her legs, leaving her slick wetness in a trail up her pale skin, watching as she shivered. “What do you want?”
“Merlin,” she muttered, sucking in a steading breath as she curled her fingers into the pillow her hands rested on. “Alastor.”
“What do you want?” He repeated, pressing a kiss against her knee. “How do you want to come. If I let you?”
Struggling to process what Alastor was saying, Pansy tried to steady herself from the trembles racking her body. The words finally registering and making her push herself on her elbows, “Wait, if?”
“If,” Alastor answered back, raising an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know that you’ve been nice enough.”
“You ripped my lingerie!” Pansy exclaimed, letting out a squeak when he bit her inner thigh, his tongue soothing the bite before his eyes flicked up to watch her for a moment, raising his other eyebrow.
“Alastor, please.”
“If I let you come, do you want my fingers, my mouth, or my cock, Pansy?”
Pansy choked on her own breath, swallowing hard for a moment as she looked at Alastor, his face hovering close enough to her, that she felt his hot breath against her cunt, the shivers rolling right through her core. Another whimper escaped her lips. “I just—” She started, stopping herself as she felt his fingers dance against the crevice between her hip and thigh. “Fucking Salazar, Alastor, I just want to come!”
Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed at her, Alastor knew that it might have been a cruel thing for him to do, but it didn’t change the fact that he certainly did and was awarded with a swift kick to his own hip. A grunt escaped his lips before he narrowed his eyes at her. “Pick one, Parkinson, or I can leave this room and you’re just going to be left with your own fingers.”
Letting out a soft noise, Pansy forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Mouth,” she pleaded, closing her eyes again. “Start with your mouth.”
“You think that you’re getting more than one?” Alastor said, biting back a grin. “Sorry, love, but you get one and that’s it.”
“Alastor.”
“Any repeats will be in my bed, in my shower, against the wall in my home, not some bloody sex club you came to with some other bloke.”
The words had barely registered to her before his mouth was back between her legs, his tongue parting her lower lips carefully while his fingers dug into her hips, keeping her from bucking up into his face. It was the soft chuckle that he let out that about did Pansy in, the sheer fucking cockiness of this arsehole, along with the impossibly real vibrations that rippled through her, sending a shiver of pleasure right to her centre.
Pansy wasn’t sure how he did it—she never quite was—but he made her feel as though he was everywhere all at once, his tongue sweeping inside of her while his thumb pressed a beat against her clit. Suddenly, he was pressing inside of her, his fingers spreading her open, as she choked on the breath she sucked in.
The pleasure building in her core was intensifying, but for she knew he wasn’t going to let her tumble over the edge quite yet. Alastor must have felt her flutter, slowing back down and pressing more feather soft kisses against her. Merlin, she adored the anticipation.
“Alastor, please,” she pleaded, knowing it will incite him to continue.
“Not yet,” he muttered, his teeth grazing against her clit and sending a shiver through her. “Not until you know and admit that you’re mine, Pans.”
She probably should have had the realization knock right into her before—there was no question about that, but of course he was making a point to her now. And while that realization might have dampened the feeling for a split second, her eyes flicking open to look at him, leaving now doubt that he meant it. His shoulders still squarely between her legs, with one of them being held up by his arm, allowing him to spread her further. Pansy couldn’t help the rush of affection she felt for the stubborn, problematic man, right there. He might be the death of her someday, but she she was determined to enjoyed the entire journey.
Because despite everything that Pansy had tried to make certain wasn’t going to happen, over the past two years, she had somehow—irrevocably—become Alastor Moody’s girl.
And as if he have planned it, even though there was no way he he could have known the thoughts—Moody's girl—running through her head, as he covered her clit with his mouth and he pushed his fingers into her again.
Whether he gave her permission or not, it was exactly that moment, that he found that soft, spongy spot inside of her. Adding delicious pressure, circling in time with his tongue on her clit, Pansy felt her vision cloud, squeezing her eyes closed, seeing little twinkle of stars. She crested, screaming his name, just as he had promised she would.
Alastor wasn't ignorant to her orgasm, even with the way she pulled his name from the back of her throat, as though she had been starved for him. He felt the way that she squeezed around him like a bloody vice, his fingers coated in her wetness, feeling the intensity of her fluttering walls begin to fade.
Alastor was bloody proud of himself, even if he did still have to figure out how he was going to get her out of this club without any of her clothes. He had released her wrist, muttering to clear the charm and allowing her to push her hands into his hair. He felt her go still against him, her breathing starting to slow down.
It was a few moments before she was moving again, the grip on his hair loosening before she tugged on him, pulling him upward before he felt her let out a shuddering breath. Placing soft peppering of kisses against her thigh and up her body, as he let her pull him towards her. He moved to brace himself over her with his elbows on either side of her head, admiring the flushed across her face. His witch.
“You’re not actually going to stick with only giving me one orgasm tonight, right?” she quipped, before feeling a shift of energy, as she noticed the intensity in his gaze. “You—”
Alastor chuckled, shaking his head for a moment, “No, you.”
“Merlin,” Pansy muttered, pulling him from where he was hovering above her and pressing her mouth against his. “You’re still so much fucking trouble for me.”
“I know an Auror that can get you out of any trouble you find,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to let you go again, pushing you away from me, Pans.”
“But you did.”
“I thought I could,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I could manage it.”
“And?” She pressed, shifting and dropping a leg from his waist, realizing that he was still mostly clothed.
“And,” he started, pressing a kiss against her neck before returning to rest his forehead against hers. “And I can’t fucking lose you. Not again.”
“Alastor—”
“So I want you around, I want you to be with me. I don’t want to shag in a bloody sex club, just because we’re both angry at each and you being with someone else. All I want is you.”
Pansy's heart pounded at his words, blinking her eyes to clear any of the residual, post orgasmic haze, ensure she was not hallucinating, before she gave a small nod.
“I won’t be nice,” she declared.
“I’m not asking for nice. I like you just the way you are.”
“I also won’t heal you at your home, just because you’re a bloody idiot.”
“I don’t want you to be my healer.”
“But, I’ll be your healer when it damn well requires it,” she snapped.
“And only then,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I want you to be you, just—” Alastor paused for a moment, clearing his throat, shifting to adjust his still-hard cock in his pants. “Fuck, I just want you to actually be mine, and only mine.”
Pansy looked into Alastor's eyes, checking for any hesitation or regret of what he just said. When she found none, she bit down on her lip, giving him a shy smile. “Okay, Alastor Moody, but only if you take me home right now and make me come a few more times… and let me make you come too.”
With the speed only a veteran Auror could possess, he placed his robes around her shoulder, pulled her into his arms, and carried her with ease towards the door. “I can agree to that deal.”