foreword (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} foreword) wrote,@ 2006-08-13 12:19:00 |
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Fic: Penance, Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Bellatrix, NC-17
Title: Penance
Author:foreword
Disclaimer: Certainly not mine.
Summary: Pansy lived rules that Ginny would never obey and she couldn't be pulled down with her, to plebeian life and sin. Pansy couldn't control anything about this, but Weasley couldn't win.
Warnings: AU, breathplay, dub-con, references to knifeplay, femmeslash, possible blasphemy.
Pairing: Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Bellatrix
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written Forincognito! I hope you like it, love!
A million and one thanks to Aspen for the wonderful beta work. :x
Pansy had never paid Ginny Weasley much attention before the war began.
They belonged to entirely different social circles, after all – Pansy wasn't sure how Ginny could even afford to go to Kilgraston Catholic Academy. Her uniform was always looking a little ragged -- the hem of her skirt was slightly frayed, like she'd gotten hers used. Pansy couldn't imagine that sort of degradation. Her shirts were always crisp, clean, white and new, and her knee socks never sagged around her ankles.
Mother made sure that Pansy was outfitted with the very best in tailored skirts and blouses, and her shoes were always shiny, even now, midway through the term. Weasley's shoes, on the other hand, looked like the same pair she'd worn years ago. Pansy couldn't imagine how that was practical.
But the younger girl never seemed to mind, somehow. As long as Pansy could remember, she'd always been one of the last girls in the yard at recess, and it seemed like plasters on her knees had become a part of her uniform over the years. Pansy couldn't imagine behaving in such a graceless and undignified manner. Most of the time, it seemed, Weasley spent her recess with the boys, and would always return with scrapes and bruises.
And Pansy had had to watch her, when she became a Prefect. She had to linger in the courtyard until every last girl was inside again, and Ginny always seemed to take longer than necessary to rebuckle her shoes and tug up her socks. Most afternoons, they were the last two girls inside after the bell.
Pansy had grown accustomed to watching over Weasley's punishment for being late.
The nuns were nothing if not strict, and lingering outside after the bells rang always earned one a sharp rap on the knuckles with a ruler. But Ginny Weasley's continued refusal to come in on time had made the nuns increasingly resentful, and her punishment increased accordingly.
Now, in what had become a weekly tradition, Pansy would watch as Mother McGonagall pulled the younger girl over her lap, tugging down her knickers and pushing up her skirt.
Pansy could hardly stand to watch it, sometimes, as Mother McGonagall raised the ruler over Weasley's pale, freckled bottom.
Girls were usually exempt from the cane, but Ginny Weasley became the exception in Pansy's seventh year.
The boys had left her, run off to be war heroes, and the annoying bint Hermione Granger (possibly Weasley's only female friend) had joined them. It was terribly scandalous, and Pansy was annoyed to note how much attention was devoted to their daring adventure the first few months of the term.
If anyone had assumed that Weasley would behave more like a lady without the influence of Potter and her brother, they were sorely mistaken.
The week before Easter holiday, Pansy caught her smoking in the upper level girls' bathroom. Her bathroom.
Ginny Weasley was perched on the windowsill beside the sink, her ancient shoes kicked off onto the floor underneath it and her knee socks sagging down around her ankles as she flicked a bit of ash out the window.
Pansy shut the door neatly behind her and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the Weasley girl and pursing her lips in thought. Oh, this would be good. Mother McGonagall would certainly cane her for this, or maybe even… Perhaps she would be expelled! Pansy felt a bit dizzy at the thought.
But the Weasley girl was refusing to look at her, aside from her initial, bored glance at her entrance. She sighed and swung her legs as she leaned further out the window. Pansy tapped her foot impatiently.
"Let's go, Weasley. I'm sure Mother McGonagall will send you home for this one. You ought not waste any time. You've plenty of packing to do, after all."
Ginny did glance up at her at this, and it was with considerable shock that Pansy realised the girl was smiling.
With a flick of her wrist, Weasley sent the remainder of her cigarette sailing out the open window as she slid down off of the sill, padding across the tiled floor in her knee socks and pausing expectantly by Pansy, her hideous shoes abandoned by the window still.
"All right. Let's go, then."
Pansy frowned at her in disgust, experiencing a moment of extreme inner turmoil at the thought of escorting Weasley to a punishment she seemed eager to accept. Pansy tightened her arms across her chest, hugging herself more closely as she glared at the younger girl.
"Do you want to be expelled, Weasley?" she asked with a hint of disgust.
"Yes." Weasley smiled and strolled petulantly up to the door, leaning against it and glancing back at Pansy expectantly.
Pansy glared, dropping her arms to her sides as she closed the space between them. She turned the lock without even really thinking about it, and now she had Ginny Weasley pinned to the door.
"You're not going anywhere, Weasley."
Ginny blinked in surprise, and Pansy noticed her lips quirk into what could almost be a smile. "I thought you wanted me expelled."
Her eyes were shining with something that was strange and familiar at once, and Pansy was close enough to feel her breathing.
Something broke, somewhere, and Pansy kissed her.
Weasley was hot and soft underneath her, and Pansy could feel her raking her horrible grubby nails across her arms, fighting this, fighting her. She was a squirming, angry mess and Pansy couldn't let her go now, could never let her go.
She shoved a knee between her thighs, and something in the ancient material of Weasley's skirt gave. Pansy heard it rip, felt it break against her, and Ginny's fingers stilled on her arms, hot red lines burning underneath the creased, clean cotton of Pansy's shirt. She couldn't stand to feel it against her skin, now, not with Weasley underneath her, against her. She could feel Weasley's breath hitting her lips in soft puffs and Pansy wondered if she had ever breathed like that.
"What was that?"
Weasley's voice shook and it took Pansy a minute to realise that she was shaking, too. She pulled away, watching every flicker of emotion in Weasley's boring brown eyes, but she wouldn't answer her. She couldn't.
"You want this." There was a tremor in her voice, but Weasley didn't argue. She nodded, licking her lips nervously and Pansy couldn't stand to watch. Ginny took a tentative step away from the door and Pansy shoved her up against the wood again. She was hot, hot like Weasley – her hair, her breath, her every waking thought.
Pansy lived rules that Ginny would never obey and she couldn't be pulled down with her, to plebeian life and sin. Pansy couldn't control anything about this, but Weasley couldn't win.
It didn't take much to break the material of her shirt – Pansy had watched the buttons down Weasley's chest strain more with every passing term. She dug her fingers into the cotton and pulled, tugged until buttons were snapping off, plastic slaps across her throat, and Weasley protested weakly into her mouth.
Pansy punished her for every moan, bites punctuating her kisses as her fingers snuck under Weasley's ruined blouse, perfect nails skating across soft, straining cotton until she found the throbbing rhythm of Weasley's heart.
It felt like it was trying to break free, and Pansy could understand that.
She rested her fingers against Weasley's breast and pulled her lips away, pressing her forehead up against hers until their breaths met in a soft dance of relief.
Weasley didn't object when Pansy moved her fingers again, sliding her fingertips across the worn cotton of the younger girl's bra until she was tugging it down, until Weasley's breast was filling her hand, soft and small and warm. She held her heart in her hand, and Pansy kissed her to apologise, brushing her thumb across Weasley's pert, hard nipple.
Weasley was polluting her, breaking her, ruining her every rule and code. There wasn't time or room for sighs and heartbeats. Bellatrix had taught her that.
She could see her memories reflected in Weasley's pupils – nights in the Malfoy Manor and a shared guest room. Bellatrix sculpted her, trained her, carved her into the woman Draco deserved.
Every night Bella came, and she devoured.
Pansy had never been whole, not since that first shine of blade against her skin and Bellatrix's laughing eyes. She lost something that night, amid the blood and lust and crucifixes, and she couldn't get it back. She didn't remember what it was to live before Bellatrix cut it out of her.
But something about the shine in Weasley's eyes and the pulse of her heart reminded her.
This was like being lost in a dream hours after waking. Pansy couldn't remember what or when or how she had gotten here, but she knew she couldn't stop. She kissed her again, and she was lost in the warm-soft-wet of Weasley's mouth. She tasted like things that Pansy had never had. She tasted like cigarettes and sin and rebellion and Pansy hated it, hated the stench and sticky death of all of this, but she was in too deep.
She slid her other hand down from its place against the door, until she was winding her fingers around Weasley's fraying tie.
Her collar was still trapped underneath it, rumpled white cotton held loosely against pale freckled skin as Pansy wound the tie once around her fist. Weasley made a worried noise against her mouth, and Pansy abandoned her breast, sliding her hand down Weasley's stomach and giving her shirttails a savage tug until she could slip her fingers underneath the waistband of her skirt.
Weasley squirmed uncertainly as Pansy's fingers skated over wet cotton knickers and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie until it was tight around Weasley's throat.
Her breaths were shallow against Pansy's mouth now, and Pansy drank them in, stealing each breath from her like it would be the last, never letting her mouth leave Ginny's. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her fingers against Ginny's knickers, and everything seemed dark and calm once more.
Bellatrix was laughing somewhere and Pansy could feel the blade gliding across her stomach again as Bellatrix marked her, moulded her, made her.
Her hand jerked slightly as Weasley's nails dug into her arms a second time, and Weasley's breath caught in her throat before coming in a hot, fast, rush.
Pansy didn't want her to break yet. She wanted to taste it, to feel everything that she wasn't in Ginny Weasley's loss of control.
Ginny's knickers slipped over her hips and down her thighs without much struggle, and she arched underneath Pansy in anticipation as Pansy's clever fingers smoothed gently over her naked, wet, cunt. Pansy smiled against her mouth, remembering what it felt like to be taken as she slid her fingers through damp, tangled curls.
Weasley moaned into her mouth and Pansy laughed, breathing her in as she dipped her fingers into Weasley's warm wet cunt. She could feel her breaths, hot and ragged against Pansy's mouth, and Pansy couldn't have that.
"We should st—"
Ginny needed to let go, needed to stop fighting this. She would never find peace in struggle, and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie in fierce reminder, cutting off Weasley's words and drinking her in again.
She twisted her fingers against Ginny's clit and felt the girl tremble beneath her as she pushed them roughly inside of her, feeling her losing her grip on Pansy's arms as Pansy pulled the tie tighter.
It was too much – she couldn't do it, but she couldn't stop, couldn't break the rhythm of this filth.
Pansy broke the kiss with her teeth, ducking her head and whispering a "Hail Mary" against Weasley's throat.
Weasley made a soft sound and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie in anticipation. She was angry, jealous and hot. She was doing Weasley's penance for her, but Pansy would have to make up for this with crosses and blades. Weasley had this easy, and she fought it all the same.
But Pansy wasn't sure she'd ever bleed Weasley out of her system. She felt her deep.
Pansy jerked on the tie, running her tongue across the clean line it was cutting in Weasley's skin as she plunged her fingers deeper inside of her.
And then the rapture came.
Weasley was a shivering, clenching, trembling mess and Pansy could feel the rhythm of her climax in the pulse under her tongue. She let the tie slip from her fingers and left Weasley there, dirty against the bathroom wall. Pansy didn't look at her as she pushed away from her, turning on her heel and striding calmly toward the sink. The click of her shoes on the tiles echoed around them, and Pansy felt her pulse slowing down to match her stride.
She watched the other girl in the mirror as she washed her hands – watched in satisfaction as Weasley slid down the wall into a crumpled mess on the floor, her cheeks flushed and her blouse ripped beyond repair. Pansy watched her fingers shake as she tried to smooth out her skirt, tried to put herself back together, but Pansy knew she never would.
Tomorrow, Pansy would speak to Mother McGonagall. Tomorrow, Weasley would be expelled, never again to distract Pansy with straining cotton blouses and scraped knees.
And then Pansy would begin her penance.
Title: Penance
Author:
forewordDisclaimer: Certainly not mine.
Summary: Pansy lived rules that Ginny would never obey and she couldn't be pulled down with her, to plebeian life and sin. Pansy couldn't control anything about this, but Weasley couldn't win.
Warnings: AU, breathplay, dub-con, references to knifeplay, femmeslash, possible blasphemy.
Pairing: Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Bellatrix
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written For
incognito! I hope you like it, love! A million and one thanks to Aspen for the wonderful beta work. :x
***
Pansy had never paid Ginny Weasley much attention before the war began.
They belonged to entirely different social circles, after all – Pansy wasn't sure how Ginny could even afford to go to Kilgraston Catholic Academy. Her uniform was always looking a little ragged -- the hem of her skirt was slightly frayed, like she'd gotten hers used. Pansy couldn't imagine that sort of degradation. Her shirts were always crisp, clean, white and new, and her knee socks never sagged around her ankles.
Mother made sure that Pansy was outfitted with the very best in tailored skirts and blouses, and her shoes were always shiny, even now, midway through the term. Weasley's shoes, on the other hand, looked like the same pair she'd worn years ago. Pansy couldn't imagine how that was practical.
But the younger girl never seemed to mind, somehow. As long as Pansy could remember, she'd always been one of the last girls in the yard at recess, and it seemed like plasters on her knees had become a part of her uniform over the years. Pansy couldn't imagine behaving in such a graceless and undignified manner. Most of the time, it seemed, Weasley spent her recess with the boys, and would always return with scrapes and bruises.
And Pansy had had to watch her, when she became a Prefect. She had to linger in the courtyard until every last girl was inside again, and Ginny always seemed to take longer than necessary to rebuckle her shoes and tug up her socks. Most afternoons, they were the last two girls inside after the bell.
Pansy had grown accustomed to watching over Weasley's punishment for being late.
The nuns were nothing if not strict, and lingering outside after the bells rang always earned one a sharp rap on the knuckles with a ruler. But Ginny Weasley's continued refusal to come in on time had made the nuns increasingly resentful, and her punishment increased accordingly.
Now, in what had become a weekly tradition, Pansy would watch as Mother McGonagall pulled the younger girl over her lap, tugging down her knickers and pushing up her skirt.
Pansy could hardly stand to watch it, sometimes, as Mother McGonagall raised the ruler over Weasley's pale, freckled bottom.
Girls were usually exempt from the cane, but Ginny Weasley became the exception in Pansy's seventh year.
The boys had left her, run off to be war heroes, and the annoying bint Hermione Granger (possibly Weasley's only female friend) had joined them. It was terribly scandalous, and Pansy was annoyed to note how much attention was devoted to their daring adventure the first few months of the term.
If anyone had assumed that Weasley would behave more like a lady without the influence of Potter and her brother, they were sorely mistaken.
The week before Easter holiday, Pansy caught her smoking in the upper level girls' bathroom. Her bathroom.
Ginny Weasley was perched on the windowsill beside the sink, her ancient shoes kicked off onto the floor underneath it and her knee socks sagging down around her ankles as she flicked a bit of ash out the window.
Pansy shut the door neatly behind her and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the Weasley girl and pursing her lips in thought. Oh, this would be good. Mother McGonagall would certainly cane her for this, or maybe even… Perhaps she would be expelled! Pansy felt a bit dizzy at the thought.
But the Weasley girl was refusing to look at her, aside from her initial, bored glance at her entrance. She sighed and swung her legs as she leaned further out the window. Pansy tapped her foot impatiently.
"Let's go, Weasley. I'm sure Mother McGonagall will send you home for this one. You ought not waste any time. You've plenty of packing to do, after all."
Ginny did glance up at her at this, and it was with considerable shock that Pansy realised the girl was smiling.
With a flick of her wrist, Weasley sent the remainder of her cigarette sailing out the open window as she slid down off of the sill, padding across the tiled floor in her knee socks and pausing expectantly by Pansy, her hideous shoes abandoned by the window still.
"All right. Let's go, then."
Pansy frowned at her in disgust, experiencing a moment of extreme inner turmoil at the thought of escorting Weasley to a punishment she seemed eager to accept. Pansy tightened her arms across her chest, hugging herself more closely as she glared at the younger girl.
"Do you want to be expelled, Weasley?" she asked with a hint of disgust.
"Yes." Weasley smiled and strolled petulantly up to the door, leaning against it and glancing back at Pansy expectantly.
Pansy glared, dropping her arms to her sides as she closed the space between them. She turned the lock without even really thinking about it, and now she had Ginny Weasley pinned to the door.
"You're not going anywhere, Weasley."
Ginny blinked in surprise, and Pansy noticed her lips quirk into what could almost be a smile. "I thought you wanted me expelled."
Her eyes were shining with something that was strange and familiar at once, and Pansy was close enough to feel her breathing.
Something broke, somewhere, and Pansy kissed her.
Weasley was hot and soft underneath her, and Pansy could feel her raking her horrible grubby nails across her arms, fighting this, fighting her. She was a squirming, angry mess and Pansy couldn't let her go now, could never let her go.
She shoved a knee between her thighs, and something in the ancient material of Weasley's skirt gave. Pansy heard it rip, felt it break against her, and Ginny's fingers stilled on her arms, hot red lines burning underneath the creased, clean cotton of Pansy's shirt. She couldn't stand to feel it against her skin, now, not with Weasley underneath her, against her. She could feel Weasley's breath hitting her lips in soft puffs and Pansy wondered if she had ever breathed like that.
"What was that?"
Weasley's voice shook and it took Pansy a minute to realise that she was shaking, too. She pulled away, watching every flicker of emotion in Weasley's boring brown eyes, but she wouldn't answer her. She couldn't.
"You want this." There was a tremor in her voice, but Weasley didn't argue. She nodded, licking her lips nervously and Pansy couldn't stand to watch. Ginny took a tentative step away from the door and Pansy shoved her up against the wood again. She was hot, hot like Weasley – her hair, her breath, her every waking thought.
Pansy lived rules that Ginny would never obey and she couldn't be pulled down with her, to plebeian life and sin. Pansy couldn't control anything about this, but Weasley couldn't win.
It didn't take much to break the material of her shirt – Pansy had watched the buttons down Weasley's chest strain more with every passing term. She dug her fingers into the cotton and pulled, tugged until buttons were snapping off, plastic slaps across her throat, and Weasley protested weakly into her mouth.
Pansy punished her for every moan, bites punctuating her kisses as her fingers snuck under Weasley's ruined blouse, perfect nails skating across soft, straining cotton until she found the throbbing rhythm of Weasley's heart.
It felt like it was trying to break free, and Pansy could understand that.
She rested her fingers against Weasley's breast and pulled her lips away, pressing her forehead up against hers until their breaths met in a soft dance of relief.
Weasley didn't object when Pansy moved her fingers again, sliding her fingertips across the worn cotton of the younger girl's bra until she was tugging it down, until Weasley's breast was filling her hand, soft and small and warm. She held her heart in her hand, and Pansy kissed her to apologise, brushing her thumb across Weasley's pert, hard nipple.
Weasley was polluting her, breaking her, ruining her every rule and code. There wasn't time or room for sighs and heartbeats. Bellatrix had taught her that.
She could see her memories reflected in Weasley's pupils – nights in the Malfoy Manor and a shared guest room. Bellatrix sculpted her, trained her, carved her into the woman Draco deserved.
Every night Bella came, and she devoured.
Pansy had never been whole, not since that first shine of blade against her skin and Bellatrix's laughing eyes. She lost something that night, amid the blood and lust and crucifixes, and she couldn't get it back. She didn't remember what it was to live before Bellatrix cut it out of her.
But something about the shine in Weasley's eyes and the pulse of her heart reminded her.
This was like being lost in a dream hours after waking. Pansy couldn't remember what or when or how she had gotten here, but she knew she couldn't stop. She kissed her again, and she was lost in the warm-soft-wet of Weasley's mouth. She tasted like things that Pansy had never had. She tasted like cigarettes and sin and rebellion and Pansy hated it, hated the stench and sticky death of all of this, but she was in too deep.
She slid her other hand down from its place against the door, until she was winding her fingers around Weasley's fraying tie.
Her collar was still trapped underneath it, rumpled white cotton held loosely against pale freckled skin as Pansy wound the tie once around her fist. Weasley made a worried noise against her mouth, and Pansy abandoned her breast, sliding her hand down Weasley's stomach and giving her shirttails a savage tug until she could slip her fingers underneath the waistband of her skirt.
Weasley squirmed uncertainly as Pansy's fingers skated over wet cotton knickers and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie until it was tight around Weasley's throat.
Her breaths were shallow against Pansy's mouth now, and Pansy drank them in, stealing each breath from her like it would be the last, never letting her mouth leave Ginny's. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her fingers against Ginny's knickers, and everything seemed dark and calm once more.
Bellatrix was laughing somewhere and Pansy could feel the blade gliding across her stomach again as Bellatrix marked her, moulded her, made her.
Her hand jerked slightly as Weasley's nails dug into her arms a second time, and Weasley's breath caught in her throat before coming in a hot, fast, rush.
Pansy didn't want her to break yet. She wanted to taste it, to feel everything that she wasn't in Ginny Weasley's loss of control.
Ginny's knickers slipped over her hips and down her thighs without much struggle, and she arched underneath Pansy in anticipation as Pansy's clever fingers smoothed gently over her naked, wet, cunt. Pansy smiled against her mouth, remembering what it felt like to be taken as she slid her fingers through damp, tangled curls.
Weasley moaned into her mouth and Pansy laughed, breathing her in as she dipped her fingers into Weasley's warm wet cunt. She could feel her breaths, hot and ragged against Pansy's mouth, and Pansy couldn't have that.
"We should st—"
Ginny needed to let go, needed to stop fighting this. She would never find peace in struggle, and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie in fierce reminder, cutting off Weasley's words and drinking her in again.
She twisted her fingers against Ginny's clit and felt the girl tremble beneath her as she pushed them roughly inside of her, feeling her losing her grip on Pansy's arms as Pansy pulled the tie tighter.
It was too much – she couldn't do it, but she couldn't stop, couldn't break the rhythm of this filth.
Pansy broke the kiss with her teeth, ducking her head and whispering a "Hail Mary" against Weasley's throat.
Weasley made a soft sound and Pansy tightened her grip on the tie in anticipation. She was angry, jealous and hot. She was doing Weasley's penance for her, but Pansy would have to make up for this with crosses and blades. Weasley had this easy, and she fought it all the same.
But Pansy wasn't sure she'd ever bleed Weasley out of her system. She felt her deep.
Pansy jerked on the tie, running her tongue across the clean line it was cutting in Weasley's skin as she plunged her fingers deeper inside of her.
And then the rapture came.
Weasley was a shivering, clenching, trembling mess and Pansy could feel the rhythm of her climax in the pulse under her tongue. She let the tie slip from her fingers and left Weasley there, dirty against the bathroom wall. Pansy didn't look at her as she pushed away from her, turning on her heel and striding calmly toward the sink. The click of her shoes on the tiles echoed around them, and Pansy felt her pulse slowing down to match her stride.
She watched the other girl in the mirror as she washed her hands – watched in satisfaction as Weasley slid down the wall into a crumpled mess on the floor, her cheeks flushed and her blouse ripped beyond repair. Pansy watched her fingers shake as she tried to smooth out her skirt, tried to put herself back together, but Pansy knew she never would.
Tomorrow, Pansy would speak to Mother McGonagall. Tomorrow, Weasley would be expelled, never again to distract Pansy with straining cotton blouses and scraped knees.
And then Pansy would begin her penance.