Title: Always Know the Game
Pairings: Draco/MCC, Pansy/MCC
Word Count: 623 words
Summary: Pansy interrupts Draco's daydream—or does she?
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for fodirteg after taking "laundry drabbles" prompts. Prompts: "explicit," "frolic," and "sinister."
Pansy couldn't believe it, but it looked like Draco did: her boyfriend was lying nude and spread-eagled in his bed as if he were bound—but he wasn't. He was turning his head from side to side as if he were blindfolded—but he only had his eyes closed. He was uttering muffled cries—but there was no gag preventing him from screaming. His cock was engorged and bobbing rhythmically as if someone were wanking him—but there was no one in the room but the two of them.
And yet, Pansy could just make out in the dim candlelight a lighter patch of skin on Draco's prick as if there were a hand curled around it, depressing the skin to push the blood away from it as it stroked him.
"Well, well, well—what sort of frolic is this? If I'd known you wanted to play this sort of game, I would have left off studying much sooner," she said softly, squirming a bit.
Her knickers were that sodden, she was so excited.
"Draco, may I play, too?" she asked, approaching the bed.
But Draco didn't appear to hear her.
"You are good at this, aren't you?" she asked, her knees bumping into the side of the mattress and her shoe inadvertently kicking something.
Breathing heavily—she'd never seen Draco so flushed or desperate before—she leaned down to pick up a box. Something rattled in it. Pansy reached into the box and pulled out a sinister-looking black phial.
"‘Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes: Daydream Potion'," she read from its label, amazed. "But you said that this sort of magic was just a toy!" Of course, she thought, letting the box drop from her shaking fingers, I like toys, don't I? "And I would have played this game if only you'd asked me to." Although, perhaps you did, she thought, looking at the half-empty bottle she was clutching in one hand.
Pansy looked at the directions on the back of the phial's label, which read, "To trade your cares for a dream, you need only say ‘yes' and drink."
The phantom hand stroking Draco's cock and the smell of sex rising in the room made her decision an easy one.
"Yes," Pansy said, drinking the rest of the phial's contents. "Now then, let's see who you're playing with, since you didn't see fit to . . . to . . . wait for me."
The room spun and grew colder, her nipples hardened into dusky peaks, and suddenly, Pansy realized that she was as naked as Draco—and that they were not alone.
Her eyes flew to the large, elegant, male hand grasping Draco's cock.
No wonder you didn't tell me about this.
"How charming to see you again, Miss Parkinson."
"Mr. Malfoy!" Pansy shrieked, snapping her head to look into Draco's father's eyes and attempting to cover herself. "What are you—"
"Very good, Draco," Lucius said, ignoring Pansy and lazily waving a hand over his son's body to release him from his now-visible restraints, blindfold, and gag. "She'll do nicely. Prepare her, and you may go—for now."
"What? No! I don't want to—"
And it was like a dream, then, as Draco's voice urged Pansy to lie down, to spread her legs, to raise her arms above her head, and to be still while he secured her to the bed and took away her sight and speech with the Slytherin school ties that had so recently bound him.
"Do what he says, Pansy. Do what he says, and you'll . . . you'll like it," Draco admitted, almost too low for her to hear.
Lucius Malfoy's low laughter rang out into the room, making her shiver.
"Do what he says until . . . ."
But the only answer she received came in the form of sharp fingernails ghosting over her flesh.