Secrets of the Boudoir

Word Count: 634

Written For:

- Lamia for the Epic Exchange, pairing used: Gilderoy/Rita, prompt used: purple underwear

- Speed Drabble: (dialogue) "that's bigger than I thought", (word) extraordinary, (word) Trouble

- Gringotts Prompt Bank: (object) Cocktail, (object) Shirt on the bedroom floor, (dialogue) "I thought you weren't talking to me for the rest of your life?" / "Who said anything about talking?" - Sex and the City prompts

Rita sighed, rapping her sharp fingernails against the glass stem of her cocktail. She was out on the prowl for the third consecutive night now—but she just couldn't seem to attract a man. What was it about her? She was attractive, in a mother-in-law kind of way. At least, she had been telling herself that for the last few years.

There wasn't much aside from her career with the Prophet that truly made her happy, and for the longest time now, she knew that she needed to settle down. Not just for the company, but for the boudoir. Things were getting awfully lonely in the boudoir.

As she drained the remainder of her drink, she spotted a familiar, honey-gold head of hair a few metres down the bar. Him. She hadn't seen him for several years, and after the last time, she had sworn that she would never have anything to do with him again. He was far too charming and perfect to be chained down to one girlfriend, never mind a wife. He was the last person that Rita wanted to ensnare.

However, things were looking dreary, and she had already consumed one too many Cosmopolitans. So, with the kind of deluded self-confidence that only alcohol could fuel, Rita thrust out her chest and strutted towards the man.

Once she reached the stool that he was perched upon, she tapped him on the shoulder smartly, and he swung around to face her. His handsome face swelled into that famous, dazzling smile. "Rita, darling," he greeted, leaning forward to peck her on the cheek. "You're looking fabulous."

Her stomach fluttered. It had been a while since she had received a compliment. "Gilderoy," she replied, sitting in the stool beside him.

"Now, pardon me if I recall this wrong, but I thought you weren't talking to me for the rest of your life?"

Rita leaned forward so that just the right amount of cleavage was visible, and covered his hand with hers. "Who said anything about talking?" she purred, looking up at him sultrily through her rose-rimmed spectacles. She could see the fire ignite in Gilderoy's eyes at her words, and he had to cross his legs awkwardly. Rita's conscience was pumping her fist—she still had the ability to make men squirm, and in a good way.

The last time that Rita and Gilderoy had dated, they had never made it to the bedroom. Back then, Rita had been prudish, wanting to wait until the third date, maybe even the fourth, before she decided to go all the way with Gilderoy. But she had been younger then, and more men desired her attention. These were desperate times.

Gilderoy clutched the glass of Daisyroot that was on the bar in front of him, and downed the remainder in one clean gulp. "You're trouble, aren't you?"

"Let's go," Rita replied urgently, and threaded her arm through his, dragging him out of the bar.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Rita finally had a man in her bedroom, even if it was one that she normally couldn't stand. It felt like such an extraordinary accomplishment, that she was still glowing even though she knew she was beginning to sober up. She was sitting on the bed in her underwear, while Gilderoy undressed in front of her.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, before tossing it onto the bedroom floor. Normally, Rita would have fussed about the mess, but tonight she didn't care. She eyed his tanned physique as he carefully unbuckled his belt, and slid his trousers down.

Her eyes widened as they landed on the bulge inside his bright purple underwear.

"Problem, Rita?" he murmured, smirking down at her with his glittering smile.

"That's bigger than I thought," she gasped, before he advanced upon her.