14th April, 1889 — Quidditch Changing Room
Kristoffer Lestrange

The match had been boring. Pretty-Boy Bones had excelled at his only talent in Trixie’s estimation - though he was far from the best-looking on the pitch - and she had nearly jumped out of her seat with excitement when a bludger had nearly smacked straight into the Hufflepuff seekers face, but alas he swerved. No blood had been spilled, no fights had broken out. Frankly she felt rather vindicated for not bothering with matches for the last five years.

The worst of it was that in a tussle between green and yellow it was the badgers that had triumphed and...well, it wasn’t exactly a small margin. Even Trixie knew that they had been soundly trounced and such a loss during his last match was not likely to have put the Slytherin captain in a particularly good mood. Every ounce of sense she possessed told her this was not the time to sneak into the changing rooms, having waited till his despondent teammates slumped off, but the thought of him sullen and angry stirred something inside her she couldn’t ignore.

She didn't knock. He was still wearing his uniform and Trixie wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

"Bad luck," she said drily, wrinkling her nose as it was assaulted by the combined scent of despair and boy.

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   Elias Grimstone

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He may as well never leave these changing rooms again, and just hang himself here already.

Of course, if he did that, his teammates would walk free and he'd be damned if he didn't get to string up Abney and all three of his chasers for this disgrace. And after that he was going to have to find the Hufflepuff captain and forcibly pop his eyes out of his sockets, and say something clever and calm about it like, good luck catching the snitch next time, motherfucker. And then probably slit his throat for good measure.

All too preoccupied with visions of beating the next person he saw to death with his beater's bat (still tight in his grip, emotional crutch that it was), Kristoffer didn't notice that anyone else had come in until someone spoke.

"What do you want?" Kris snarled, starting to round on her almost before he realised who it was - because although it was not someone who was at fault for the match, it was not just anyone, either. That said, better to sound angry than taken aback: the last thing he needed was Beatrix Borgin to bear witness to yet another ritual humiliation. Losing out on Head Boy had been bad enough, and now this? If she had come to gloat and be all clever with him - well, that'd be it for her, wouldn't it? He'd have to pay her back in kind.

And he actually liked her, damn it.

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   Beatrix Burke

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Had she been born to a better, more genteel life Trixie might had taken umbrage at his tone, might have run away with her tail between her legs and declared him beastly to all the other stupid little chits that would listen. Instead she raised her eyebrow with intrigue. She didn’t flinch - just let his angry reaction wash over her and she found it delicious.

It was oddly thrilling to think that he was so furious. Doubly so to see the almost imperceptible hint of regret flash in his eye when he caught sight of her. Oh, but she wanted him to feel...she wasn’t quite sure what...regretful wasn’t right, she wanted him to be whole and full of his temper and she wanted him to be in a temper when he was with her, though not necessarily unleash said temper on her.

“Calm down, I only came to make you feel better,” she replied honestly, having formed a fair idea in the course of her short life of precisely how she might achieve this end. He was so very, very handsome; and somehow the angrier he was the more he appealed. “Thought you might need cheering up after your team shafted you like that.”

  

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She was being clever. Calm down, she'd just said, as though she could tell him what to do. She seemed almost impervious to his mood and to the tense frustration settled thick in the air, had just stalked in as if she owned the place, as if she had every right to.

It was... impressive, coming from a girl like her.

And whatever she was doing, she wasn't gloating. She was on his side.

He stared at her awhile. The anger was still knotted in him, simmering just underneath the surface of his skin, but with a flex of his fingers, he let go of the bat, sent it thudding onto the bench beside him. (He'd save the prescribed beating-to-death for the next person he saw. They wouldn't be so pretty.)

"And how do you think you're going to do that?" Kristoffer drawled, as if he didn't believe she could, daring her to try. He pretended to concentrate on removing his wrist guards, ripping them off with a satisfying ferocity, but found himself instead afflicted with a new kind of agony, one that increased for every moment he refused to look at her.

But Beatrix Borgin was a resourceful girl, he'd worked out that much about her. Surely she'd come up with something.

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   Beatrix Burke

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Trixie almost chuckled as she took a step towards him but she wasn’t entirely sure whether he would lash out at her, assuming the laughter was at his expense, so she held it in. The thought that he might was as thrilling as it was menacing, but she was rather glad when he threw down the bat. She was entranced by his physicality, had thoroughly enjoyed watching him use his strength on the pitch, but she was no masochist – as far as she knew – and didn’t fancy a week in the Hospital Wing for her troubles.

She smirked as he turned away from her gaze, suddenly very fascinated by his wrists, as though any guards that men could make would save him from her intentions. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she took a step closer, insinuating herself into her space and demanding his attention.

“I think I’m going to make you wonder why you’d ever bother with a nice, young lady again,” she replied boldly, her eyes having no compunction about lingering on his lips.

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   Kristoffer Lestrange

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He couldn’t help it. He was looking at her again.

“We’ll see about that,” Kristoffer answered, as though he hadn’t already utterly lost this game. Nice young lady who? None of them had ever quite made him feel like this, a shiver rushing down his spine. And even the merest thought of doing something like this would have been enough to see all the rest of them blush and shrivel up, disappointingly. Miss Borgin, however - well, she was begging for this, wasn’t she? She had solicited this herself. He was almost convinced she could read his mind. She was almost close enough to.

He placed a hand at the nape of her neck to keep her there, and leant down to kiss her, impatience taking over. She was right, of course. After that disastrous match, what better distraction than this? There was no harm in letting her have this victory.

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   Beatrix Burke

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The sweet sensation of getting precisely what she wanted made Trixie’s whole body tingle with pleasure. She had been thinking about doing just this with Kristoffer Lestrange since more or less the moment she had first set eyes on him – a claim she sadly couldn’t make about her intended - but to actually feel his rough hands against her skin was better than she could have imagined.

And there was the chance anybody could come in and see them together. Trixie clung to her little bit of power within the confines of the school like an alpha animal protecting her crown but outside these walls she knew she was invisible. She would never be anything more than a shopkeeper’s wife and a far from respectable one at that. But everybody knew his family name and everybody knew that he could have any girl in the school if he wanted them.

She mimicked the placement of his hands, digging her fingers into the nape of his neck to make the moment last longer. Trixie had no intention of letting him go before she had made it absolutely clear that when it came to her he could have anything he wanted.

  

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He groaned in pleasure at the sensation, as anger flooded into something else entirely. She wasn’t shying away from at the contact. Did she do this with all the boys? Kristoffer almost thought; ambush them in the changing rooms? Perhaps he didn't care to know; at this moment he didn't care at all.

(Besides, he would rather it be her here than any other girl he knew.)

The privacy was precious enough, never mind her willingness: since this had practically been an invitation, he would be a fool to not make the most of it. Maybe she could already tell too well, that she was too clever by half, that the failure of that match had faded faster than Kristoffer had thought possible; somehow, he had no space in his head for any thoughts that weren't about Beatrix Borgin, her soft lips, and her nails curled into the back of his neck, the slender set of her body as his hands roved downwards (with an abundance of confidence, if not particular... finesse), exploring the feel of her further. It was as much of a thrill as quidditch - as much of a triumph, as much as a power-trip - and he didn’t want to let go.

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Trixie had kissed Claude once as an experiment to see quite how miserable her future prospects were and it had answered her question in the most disappointing way. Claude kissed her like she was the most unpleasant thing he could imagine, as though somebody was holding a wand to his temple which was, she would concede, roughly how she felt about kissing him.

Kristoffer was very far from being forced. In her imaginings Trixie had hoped it would be just like this: he grabbed for her, not especially elegantly and she wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to achieve around her chest but it was only half-successful, but he wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her and she felt like that was more than enough.

She opened her mouth to him, hands exploring his sturdy chest and feeling his response against her lower stomach – she smirked, it hadn’t taken as long as she thought it might.

“Do you want to?” She asked coyly, swallowing hard because while she had absolutely planned this with the purpose of spiting her intended and cementing herself as someone a Lestrange would remember it didn’t change the fact that she was just as keen as he was.

  

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He almost had to laugh at her question, despite already breathing almost too heavily to do so. She had already succeeding in shooing away all thought of that disastrous match with a kiss, with the merest whiff of her attention, so she might have left things there. But if she was seducing him - and they were both clear on that, that this had been her idea - there was no sense in half-measures, was there?
He had to admit, it would be disappointing if she’d had her hands all over him and then changed her mind. Swiftly, lest she stop to contemplate it, Kristoffer let his hands slide even further down to start hiking up the fabric of her clothes. 

“Come on now,” he breathed in her ear, leaning into her, and he might’ve even rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been too preoccupied already, with all - this. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

(The answer was yes. Emphatically yes. Yes so obviously that any idiot would see it.)

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Trixie grinned rakishly. She certainly could feel his eagerness and with a little bit of exploration she knew that he would feel hers too… She might be a virgin technically but Trixie was well aware of how everything worked and she was more than eager to put that scant knowledge into practice and enjoy herself before she was shackled to Claude forevermore – or at least until she could be rid of him and make it seem an accident.

“Then we both know what we’re doing here,” she muttered close to his ear. His body was overheated from exertion already and he smelt pleasantly musty – though neither sensual consideration occurred to Trixie for long after she moved her hand to the front of his trousers just as his hands found the top of her stockings. She had no great intention of this being a romantic moment and she let him know with a firm press of her hand against straining clothes, but she certainly intended to make this memorable.

“Let’s get on with it shall we?”

Fade out?

  

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