A/N: So hey. It's been right ages since I have updated, and I am sure everyone has forgotten about this story since I vanished under a rock for months and months. Bad, bad me. I feel awful. Oh well, here is an update, and boy am I ever proud of myself to have gotten back into it somewhat! Yay!
You're a cast signed broken arm
You're an actor out of work
I think I love you, I think I'm mad
You're a boxer in the ring
With brass knuckles underneath
I think I love you, I think I'm mad
Actor Out of Work, St. Vincent
"I always knew you wanted my body."
"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," I exclaimed fondly as I lay on his chest, sprawled on top of him on his comfy leather sofa after I finally (yet all too soon) put an end to our snogging before I died of a lack of oxygen/had my way with him without making him work for it, "I did not always want your body. This is a rather recent development."
"I should have gotten myself severely injured and hospitalized years ago, and I would have, if I'd known this would be the result." Hmm. Interesting.
"Years ago? For how many years has snogging me on your couch been your number one goal?" I was teasing, of course, yet still slightly curious that maybe this had been something he'd wanted for a while. Who doesn't want to be the girl that the studly successful superstar pines over? (Also the girl that the studly successful superstar tormented and irritated for all of those years that he was supposedly 'pining', but, you know, whatever.)
He laughed lightly, causing his chest to rumble pleasantly underneath me. "Well I wouldn't have called it my number one goal. Maybe number three or four. But all jokes aside… Look, when you're a professional Quidditch player, there are always girls around. Which is convenient, obviously, and I'm not complaining, but I've always… enjoyed a little bit of a challenge."
That was not the satisfying 'yes, Rosie, for years you have been all I have thought about, and nothing comes close to finally being able to hold you in my arms' response I had been hoping for. I was a challenge? Like a rubiks cube, or a crossword puzzle? I couldn't stop myself from feeling disappointed, and from wondering how long it would be until the novelty wore off for him. How many times does a person solve a rubiks cube before they toss it in the trash and pick up a new challenge, like… knitting?
I didn't respond, because I was busy being disgruntled yet trying not to say anything since I know for a fact that it is totally not cute to be all 'are you saying that's all I am to you? But waaaah I need to hear you say you'll love me forever!' Not that I would ever say that. Since Malfoy and I have only been fake dating for an extremely short period of time and real dating for – are we real dating now? Or are we just half-friend co-workers who snog? Oh dear. I must find out. Immediately. Except that Malfoy took my silence to mean that I was all finished talking, and therefore there was really nothing else to do but… slowly rub his fingers in circles on my back as he kissed my neck up to my ear.
What was I going to ask him about again?
As his lips found mine, I decided that whatever it was that I had wanted to talk to him about was definitely less important than removing his shirt and seeing the seeker abs that I had once or twice (all the time) fantasized about.
I am in deep trouble. In so many ways.
First of all, there is the small, teensy eensy weensy fact that my parents are furious with me for following my heart instead of using my head, or whatever their point was, and I have yet to speak to them and extend my apologies. For screaming at them in the hospital, not for having somewhat more than friendly (but most of the time far less than friendly) feelings for Scorpius Malfoy. I mean, for goodness sakes, this is the twenty-first century. It's hardly the era where parents choose romantic partners for their children.
I can decide for myself! Using my excellent judgement! But anyways. That is problematic dilemma numero uno.
After that is the present situation I am in, which is that there is officially not a single member of the Cannons staff who doesn't recognize me as 'Scorpius Malfoy's girlfriend' due to all of the ridiculous press items that have been released regarding the two of us. Now, while at first I thought maybe this would entice people to be super nice to me since I am influential to someone influential, and therefore extremely important myself, so far that has not been the case. Instead, I am being regarded as 'the sneaky tart who is sleeping with a Cannon for his money/fame/success and who deserves evil dagger-eye stares anytime she leaves the safety of her office'. And while I wouldn't go so far as to say that I have a desperate need to be liked…Okay. That's a lie. I have a desperate need to be liked. By anyone and everyone, but especially co-workers! And also people on the street, and the children of the people on the street. Basically everyone. Did I say everyone already? Focus Rose.
I'm not sure how to deal with all of the silent, fuming hostility that is being sent my way. I mean, I can understand the infuriated and jealous young women who want my 'boyfriend' all to themselves and are therefore plotting my death, but what about everyone else? I just want to attach a ginormous sign to my forehead that says 'I AM NOT A GOLD-DIGGING, FAME-STEALING HUSSY.' Come to think of it, I think that would help the situation. I am going to make a sign right now. I'll hang it outside my door.
But the third, most pressing issue is, of course, in direct regards to Malfoy himself. Four days have passed since our superhot couch-snogging session, and I have yet to truly decipher what we are. Now, I would love to say that I am the kind of lady who is hip and trendy and doesn't care about the 'label' of a relationship, but, well I am not. At all. I, personally, love being able to talk about 'my boyfriend', to tell the world I am unavailable, and to know what the boundaries of the relationship are right off the bat without any confusion.
And since Malfoy has yet to get down on one knee and humbly beg me to be his loyal girlfriend while fireworks explode and confetti rains down, I am left swimming in confusion and deep emotional turmoil.
It's not that I don't mean to ask him, maturely, where we stand. I do. Really. It's just that, any time we find ourselves alone, gloriously, wonderfully alone, I get… sidetracked. It's not fair that he has just the softest hair and the smoothest skin and the most talented lips. And tongue. And hands… Sweet Merlin. Do you see the problem here? How am I ever supposed to sit him down and say, 'listen, mister, I am not one of your many groupies, and you cannot touch me again until I know that I'm the only girl you're thinking about' when every time I see him I end up launching myself at his lips after a mere five seconds?
Maybe I am just one of his many groupies! I mean, I'm surely acting like one, being completely unable to control my hormones whenever he is within one hundred feet of me. How do I know he's not snogging me and then running off and snogging someone else before I've even gotten my breathing back to normal?
This won't do.
I vow, right now, on everything that is holy to me including my parents, extended family, and chocolate mousse, that the next time I see Scorpius Malfoy, I will not lose my head and pounce on him. I will behave maturely and professionally, and politely ask him what exactly is going on between us so that I can stop all of this worrying.
It will give me wrinkles.
I think the best strategy in order to successfully complete this talk would actually be to put myself in a full body bind, minus my mouth so that I could still speak. But then I could still snog, and that would defeat the whole purpose, oh Merlin, that's useless plan –
Think of the Devil, and the Devil he doth appear. Scorpius Malfoy came barging into my office, with tousled hair and a face like thunder, slamming the door behind him. Bloody Hell he looked angry! (But still incredibly shaggable, of course.) I mentally ran through my actions since I had seen him last, trying to remember what I had done to make him appear as though he wanted to murder me. My worrying switched to confusion, however, when he leaned back against the door that he had violently assaulted two seconds earlier, (my poor office door, really, doesn't anyone understand that it needs to be treated with care?) grinned at me, and uttered nothing more than, "So hey. How's it going."
My mind whizzed around in multiple directions before I was able to come up with a response, so he may possibly believe I am slow in the head now. First, of course, I worried about the state of my door, and then wondered what the long-term repercussions would be of seeing someone with a multiple personality disorder, and then finally became fixated on his lovely forearms as he crossed them over his chest. (Now, I understand that forearms are maybe not always that exciting, but if you had seen the way he was flaunting them in my face, all exposed, you would understand why I could not look away.)
Finally, finally, I my mouth caught up to my brain and I was managed to utter, "Why are you so mad at my door?"
Right. Because that didn't sound remotely stupid. Sigh. Maybe I should just give up on trying to communicate logically with people.
To which he responded carelessly, "Hmm? Oh, that. Well, nosy bastards in this building are far too interested in our affairs, so I figured if I was seen storming in here furiously, they would assume we were arguing. Rather than suspect that we were shagging on your desk."
Don't, Rosie, don't think about shagging on your desk, stop picturing it, no no no – FOCUS!
"Now they'll just assume that we are having makeup sex." Oh drat, where did that come from? Why did I say that? Those words sounded nothing like 'Scorpius, what's going on; are we together or not?'
He pushed himself off of the door and slowly sauntered around to my side of the desk, my territory, like a predatory stalking his prey.
"Would they be correct in that assumption?" I looked into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes swimming with mischief and, dare I say, lust, and my heart started hammering impossibly fast.
"Of course not," I attempted to state matter-of-factly, but I was embarrassed by how breathy my voice sounded, "We haven't been fighting." Good girl, Rosie. That was very logical. Now just remember to keep breathing, and remember the vow, you made yourself a vow, something about talking and not snogging –
"What a shame." He was leaning over me now, his face dangerously close, and he just smelled so clean, and I felt myself biting my lip as my body responded to his presence at an alarming rate. As he began to close the small distance between us, I shocked myself (and also Malfoy) by shooting up out of my chair and zooming to the other side of the room. Wow. I didn't think I had it in me. Immediately I felt better, with some distance and a desk between us. The fog in my brain started to dissipate.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looked completely baffled. And also somewhat like a kicked puppy.
"What did you do that for?"
"Now you listen here, Mister!" I started, my voice as strong as I could make it. It was also, er, rather loud. And I sounded terribly rehearsed. "I will not be one of your groupies! This snogging absolutely, under no circumstances, can continue, lest I know for certain that we are snogging each other exclusively!" Phew. It was difficult to get all of that out. I'm ever so proud of myself.
Malfoy continued to look like he simply had no clue what on earth was going on. He blinked in confusion numerous times, and then frowned. "Of course we are snogging each other exclusively. Aren't we? You haven't been snogging someone else have you?"
"Me? Of course not, I am not the famous athlete with people around me every minute of every day desperately offering their sexual services!"
He grinned slightly, but surprisingly, not in an arrogant way. If I had to describe it, I would say that it was… fond. Yes. He grinned fondly. He should do that more often I think, it softened his face immeasurably.
I was hesitant, as that was a dangerous suggestion, but I slowly walked towards him and he wrapped his arms around me. Hmm. He is full of surprises sometimes. I was not expecting a hug.
"We are officially snogging exclusively," he whispered, his lips on the shell of my ear sending tingles down my spine, "because when Scorpius Malfoy wants something, he doesn't share."
And finally he claimed my lips with his, and I was all too willing, because I had been waiting to do that since he'd barged in, and if I had had to wait one more minute my head would probably have exploded. In the back of my hazy mind, the damn notion of shagging on the desk just wouldn't leave me alone.
It seemed that Malfoy had the same idea, as he picked me up and planted me on it.
This is against the rules right? Shut up, brain.
He removed my blouse.
I'm sure it is. I'll be fired.
My bra followed.
Oh, to Hell with it. It's my desk. I'll use it however I please.
Seeing as how I graduated Hogwarts as the top witch in my year, you would think I would have had the common sense to think to lock the door.
A/N: I have no idea what the response will be to this, but I hope it is positive of course! I feel like I have changed a lot in the time between updates so I just hope that the style of my writing doesn't seem completely disconnected from the previous chapters (though, of course, I hope it has improved :) ).
Please leave a review, even if it is to angrily yell at me for being one of the awful people who takes ages and ages to update. I hate those people. :)