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lightofdayeTitle: Men Are Not For Friendship
Pairing:Harry/Pansy
Rating: NC-17
Length: 275
Warnings: nada
Notes: A drabble for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_humpdrabbles and posted Here. Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tamlane for betaing.
When Harry came home from a stakeout that took something in excess of 36 hours, he wanted nothing more than a cup of tea, a hot shower and a long sleep. But he barely managed to boil the kettle before Pansy Parkinson, fresh from a four-hour shift at Wendoline’s Witching Salon stomped through his front door and threw herself onto the sofa, fuming.
“Tough day?” Harry said, pouring boiling water over the teabag already in his teapot.
All he got was a sullen muttering in response.
He placed one cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Pansy and sat down next to her, sipping from his own cup.
“Want to talk about it?” he said.
Her grey eyes narrowed to slits, her dark brows creasing in a frown.
“Talk about it? Is that the kind of relationship you think we have? Like we’re friends or something?”
“Umm… yes?” Harry said, nonplussed.
That was the wrong answer apparently. Pansy did not let up her glare but instead shifted closer to him, lifting a hand to his chest.
“Let’s get this straight. You are not my friend. There’s just one thing I want from you.”
Her hand clawed at his shirt. Buttons went flying as it came apart, exposing a stripe of muscular flesh. Pansy’s face hovered above his own, her hand pressing against his bared chest as it moved downward.
“You got a problem with that?”
Harry groaned and lurched into her grip.
“Not right at this second,” he gasped.
“Damn straight,” said Pansy as she straddled him.
And for the next half an hour, neither of them worried about anything at all.
Pairing:Harry/Pansy
Rating: NC-17
Length: 275
Warnings: nada
Notes: A drabble for
hp_humpdrabbles and posted Here. Many thanks to tamlane for betaing.When Harry came home from a stakeout that took something in excess of 36 hours, he wanted nothing more than a cup of tea, a hot shower and a long sleep. But he barely managed to boil the kettle before Pansy Parkinson, fresh from a four-hour shift at Wendoline’s Witching Salon stomped through his front door and threw herself onto the sofa, fuming.
“Tough day?” Harry said, pouring boiling water over the teabag already in his teapot.
All he got was a sullen muttering in response.
He placed one cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Pansy and sat down next to her, sipping from his own cup.
“Want to talk about it?” he said.
Her grey eyes narrowed to slits, her dark brows creasing in a frown.
“Talk about it? Is that the kind of relationship you think we have? Like we’re friends or something?”
“Umm… yes?” Harry said, nonplussed.
That was the wrong answer apparently. Pansy did not let up her glare but instead shifted closer to him, lifting a hand to his chest.
“Let’s get this straight. You are not my friend. There’s just one thing I want from you.”
Her hand clawed at his shirt. Buttons went flying as it came apart, exposing a stripe of muscular flesh. Pansy’s face hovered above his own, her hand pressing against his bared chest as it moved downward.
“You got a problem with that?”
Harry groaned and lurched into her grip.
“Not right at this second,” he gasped.
“Damn straight,” said Pansy as she straddled him.
And for the next half an hour, neither of them worried about anything at all.
