It wasn't how Ginny would have preferred to spend her New Year's Eve, but she couldn't deny that the UK Quidditch League had clearly spared no expense for their end-of-year gala. The large event space at League Headquarters was decked out to the nines in silver and gold, with shimmering metallic banners hanging from the walls displaying the mascot for each League team. Ginny supposed she was a little biased, but the bright gold Harpies talon against a sea of sparkling emerald was clearly the best of the bunch.
Sighing, she reached out and snagged a slim flute of champagne, her nose wrinkling as she took a hearty swig. Give her a mug of ale over this fizzy piss any day. There was an open bar across the room that she could have tried her luck at but it looked like nearly every player in the League had the same idea, and Ginny didn't feel like battling it out for a watered-down whisky. Champagne would have to do for now.
It was strange, seeing her teammates and colleagues (or more accurately, competition) all gussied up for the League gala/fundraiser. They were athletes, more comfortable in trackies and team jerseys than dress robes, but when the League bigwigs said jump, the players said 'how high?' The teams were all required to attend swanky parties like this one a couple times a year, providing the sport's most loyal (and wealthy) supporters a chance to rub elbows with their favourite players in the hope that it would inspire them to open up their wallets. Ginny hated the schmoozing and politics of it all, but she understood it was necessary if she wanted to keep playing the game she loved. So she bit her cheek, donned her finest clothes, and plastered on a smile.
Still, she would have much rather been at Luna's right now, who always threw the most ridiculous parties, and had decided to host a New Year's Eve bash with all of their mates from Hogwarts. The party was sure to be utterly mad, but it would certainly be less pretentious than what lay ahead of Ginny tonight. Even with her brilliant teammates here to keep her company, it was bound to be a boring evening.
And then Ginny saw her.
Pansy bloody Parkinson.
Ginny scowled but couldn't tear her eyes away from where Pansy was flirting outrageously with the ancient (and male, which Ginny knew from experience wasn't Pansy's type) head of the League. She was wearing an indecently short emerald green (of course) dress that just skimmed the tops of her thighs. As always, she looked bloody gorgeous, the silken material clinging to her subtle curves and contours in all the best ways. Ginny couldn't help but wonder how the fabric would feel bunched up in her own hands as she shoved the dress up to Pansy's hips so that she could mouth at where Pansy would be hot and wet and salty-sweet.
Ginny swallowed around a suddenly-dry throat, and Pansy chose that precise moment to look over and meet Ginny's stare. Her lips twitched into a wicked smirk and it took every ounce of Ginny's willpower to shrug and give Pansy a dismissive, generic smile. The effort was worth it, though, for the flash of determination in Pansy's eyes and the high flush it brought to her cheeks.
The two of them had been playing this little game for years now, ever since they'd run into each other that first time after the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been years since Ginny had seen Pansy or given her any thought at all, so imagine her surprise when the bint had shown up at the only magical lesbian bar in all of England, a cosy, if slightly dingy, pub tucked into a side-street in the wizarding district in Manchester. The place wasn't big enough for them to avoid one another entirely, and it hadn't been long before they were snapping and sniping, trading increasingly vicious barbs as the evening wore on. Somehow, the night had ended with Ginny finger-fucking Pansy up against the back-alley wall while she raked her blood-red stiletto nails down Ginny's back. Ginny had figured that was that, a one-off display of poor-decision-making skills on her part, never to be repeated—even if the sex had been bloody brilliant.
A year later they'd crossed paths again after Ginny's team had just barely lost a brutal match against the Bats. To say she'd been in a mood would have been a massive understatement, and she'd not been in any state of mind to put up with Parkinson's bullshit. Putting Parkinson's legs up over her shoulders while Ginny ate her out under the Quidditch stands, however…
A pattern of sorts had developed after that, with Ginny and Pansy conveniently managing to find themselves in the same location every few months or so, an evitable dance starting the moment they set eyes on one another. They'd flirt and tease, and it all would culminate in some truly mind-blowing sex. They weren't together or anything—they certainly didn't go on dates, and Ginny knew neither of them were celibate between their liasons. Ginny didn't want anything serious, was content to play the field both on and off the pitch, and if she was going to settle down with a witch, it definitely wouldn't be with Pansy Parkinson of all people.
But it was hard not to notice that their banter had gradually lost most of its bite, that their chance encounters were growing increasingly close together, and though Ginny had been fucking other witches at the start, it had been six months since she'd last had sex with anybody other than Pansy.
Ginny wasn't thinking about any of that, and she definitely wasn't letting herself wonder what it all might mean.
She was so lost in her musings that she didn't even notice that the witch in question had been making her way over to Ginny's corner until a fresh champagne flute floated right in front of Ginny's face. She frowned, glancing down at the empty glass in her hand before looking up to lock eyes with Pansy.
"I thought you could use another drink," Pansy said with a smirk and an elegant roll of her shoulders that shifted her plunging neckline a centimetre lower—an effect that was no doubt as purposeful as it was compelling.
"Thanks," Ginny said flatly, Banishing her empty flute to one of the collection bins in the far corner before swiping the replacement out of the air and taking a fizzy gulp. "So what are you doing here anyway? Didn't think Quidditch was really your thing."
Pansy's smirk turned filthy. "It's not. Quidditch players on the other hand…" She let the innuendo linger for a moment as she licked her bright red lips before continuing, "I might not cover sports for the Prophet but I am the authority on all things society and culture. How could I possibly miss out on a star-studded event such as this? My readers are practically salivating to find out who the Gwenog Jones will be rubbing elbows with tonight."
Ginny rolled her eyes. Leave it to Pansy to weasel her way into the night's most exclusive, and most snooze-worthy, party. Then again, as Pansy gave Ginny's perfectly tailored trousers and gold-sequined blazer a slow once-over, Ginny was fairly certain she knew why Pansy had finagled this particular invite. She wondered if Roger Davies, the Prophet's sports correspondent, was also here tonight, or if Pansy had taken his ticket. Then again, Ginny really didn't care. Fuck Roger Davies.
Or better yet, fuck Pansy.
"I must say, Weasley," Pansy said in her slow, sexy drawl, the perfectly painted pout of her lips shining obscenely beneath the glittering lights. "You do clean up nice. Quite the change from your… usual attire."
Ginny's cunt throbbed at the way Pansy's voice dripped suggestion and she summoned a cocky smirk of her own. "Oh, I don't know, Parkinson. You've never seemed to have any complaints about my clothes before. In fact"—she leaned in, whispering the words against the soft whorl of Pansy's ear—"you appeared to have a particular fondness for my Quidditch leathers, if memory serves."
Pansy let out a sweet little shiver, one that she'd no doubt try and deny if Ginny hadn't been pressed so close as to feel it for herself. Ginny felt a flash of triumph, and something softer, too, fond anticipation mixed with genuine pleasure that Pansy was so obviously affected by Ginny's presence, the way Ginny undoubtedly was by Pansy's.
Pansy opened her mouth, likely to unleash a snappy retort, but Ginny was done with the foreplay—she was ready for the main event. They were standing next to a large silver Christmas tree—it wasn't Christmas any longer, but it matched the decor of the gala well enough—and Ginny pushed Pansy behind it, effectively shielding them from the rest of the room.
"Oh," Pansy moaned softly. The pornagraphic quality was no doubt exaggerated, but it still sent lust rocketing through Ginny's veins. "You know how much I like it when you get forceful."
Ginny groaned and shoved her leg between Pansy's, nudging up the edges of her tight dress so Ginny could press her knee against Pansy's cunt. Damp heat soaked the fabric, and Ginny was sure if she'd been able to get a clear view that she'd discover Pansy had decided to forego wearing knickers under that tight green dress.
"And you know how much I like it when you're a mouthy brat," Ginny countered before leaning in and taking Pansy's lips in a deep, forceful kiss. Pansy had always been good with her mouth, and she kissed Ginny back with equal passion, sliding her fingers through Ginny's chin-length hair and holding tight as she ground purposefully down against Ginny's trouser-covered kneecap. Pansy moaned, and Ginny's knickers grew damp.
Ginny eagerly ran her hands up Pansy's bared legs, over the rucked up edges of her dress, and along her sides, the silken fabric every bit as soft as she imagined. She cupped Pansy's breasts, her thumbs toying with the low neckline as she fought the urge to tug and scoop until Pansy's tits popped free. She was just about to say to hell with the consequences and do it anyway, eager to mouth at Pansy's pert nipples, when a booming voice startled their lips apart.
"Welcome witches and wizards to our New Year's Eve Gala, brought to you by the UK's very own Quidditch League! If you all wouldn't mind making your way to your seats, we'll get started with the evening's program in just five minutes."
Ginny groaned—and not the sexy kind of groan—as she remembered the stupid speeches and awards she had to sit through, and the fact that her manager would most definitely note with displeasure if she was late. As sweet as Pansy's cunt was, it wasn't worth possibly getting benched for, so she reluctantly pulled away.
Pansy pouted but made no move to change Ginny's mind, instead tugging the hem of her dress back down until she was (relatively) decent once more. Her face was a little flushed, her lips a little swollen, but otherwise not a hair was out of place. Ginny, on the other and, suspected, based on Pansy's enthusiastic tugging, that most of her hairs were out of place, and the knee that had been pressed nearly inside of Pansy was soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin. Luckily her trousers were black and it wasn't noticeable, though Ginny wasn't sure if she was just being fanciful, thinking she could smell Pansy's sweet, musky scent. Or maybe that was from Pansy herself, because she wasn't wearing any knickers and all Ginny could think about was how easy it would be to slip her fingers up Pansy's long legs until they sank straight into her wet heat.
She swayed, dizzy with want and unsatisfied lust, and Pansy's grin was positively feral as she reached out with both hands, grabbed hold of Ginny's sparkling blazer, and hauled her in for a toe-curling kiss.
"Come find me at midnight," Pansy murmured against her mouth before breaking the kiss and smoothing Ginny's collar down with a proprietary caress. "Don't keep me waiting."
With that, Pansy flounced back out into the ballroom, the dress perfectly emphasising the tantalising curve of her arse. Ginny allowed herself a moment to stare, her mouth flooding with saliva as she thought of exactly which part of Pansy she planned to be kissing at midnight. Then she stepped out from behind the tree and went to join her teammates at their table.
Across the room Pansy caught her gaze, a surprisingly soft smile dancing across her lips as she settled into her seat. Ginny's heart began to pound with something more than simple lust. She swallowed and reluctantly tore her gaze away, her cheeks flushed.
Three more hours until the new year. Ginny had a feeling it was going to be a good one.