Pansy Parkinson was blushing as he kissed her, Harry realised. She was actually blushing. It was as adorable as it was surprising. They were perched side by side on his sofa, snogging. His hands cupped her face while hers were pressed against his chest. Her touch was gentle, neither pushing him away nor digging in to pull him closer, it was if she didn’t know what do with them.
She let out the slightest moan when their lips parted.
“You okay, Pansy?” he said softly and braced for a sharp retort. In his experience, Pansy was loud, abrasive and scathing if crossed. Instead all she said was,
“Uh-huh.” And she didn’t sound particularly confident.
They kissed again. Pansy was delicious, her mouth was soft and pliant as Harry’s tongue darted into it but still she was passive.
Pansy blushed more deeply.
“I.. I just don’t do this very often Harry,” she said. “Good girls don’t get taken home for a shag after a date.”
“And you’re a good girl?” Harry chuckled. Pansy glared. She probably was, at least by pure-blood Slytherin standards.
“You want to stop?” Harry asked.
“Not at all,” Pansy smiled.
Harry grinned back and pulled her into another kiss. Pansy leant in, kissing him more deeply and confidently. Harry’s hand left her hair and stroked slowly down her back to hold her around the middle.
Pansy squeaked in surprise as Harry suddenly lifted her around so he was sitting straight and she was straddling him.
“Though you might like it like this,” Harry said, “take it at your own speed, sort of thing.”
“Hauling me on top of you is ‘letting me take it at my own pace’?” Pansy’s grey eyes flashed with steel.
“That’s right. Don’t you like this?” Harry said with fake innocence, jerking his hips upwards against her.
“Well when you put it like that...”
Pansy kissed him again, her soft round breast brushing up against his chest. Her hands started wandering, running over his muscles and toying with his clothes. Encouraged, Harry copied her and was pleased to hear a soft moan when his hands found the bare skin under her clothes.
She blushed again and her eyes grew wide when she saw his cock.
“You’re own pace, remember?” Harry said, as she straddled him and they pointed him at her entrance.
Saying it and meaning it were two different things, Harry thought as Pansy lowered herself onto him. Pressing him half an inch deeper each time, squirming her hips in little circles as she tried to cope, his cock caught in tightness the whole time.
Harry whispered encouragements and endearments as she gently rode him, her arms around his neck, rocking back and forth insistently with his cock buried insider her until she buried her face against his shoulder, riding out her climax.
He didn’t think he was going to tell anyone that as fierce as she was in real life, Pansy was gentle as a kitten in the sack.