Lawns and Lust

Elsie had practically grown up with Christofer Dolohov, though he had always been seven years her senior. The man was finally beginning to work for his family fortune, doing something in the Ministry that was probably along the lines of investment. It seemed every pureblood who actually took a job either committed himself to finance or politics. The rest were socialites or bachelors. The responsibilities in that were merely staying relevant without shaming their family.

Christofer, still trying to understand the difference between being a businessman and a bachelor (little had changed, except that he had to go to board meetings and sign contracts he did not understand), had found it very pleasing to run into Elsie Norton. He was a harmless man, surely, always too meek to ever support the Death Eaters with his own tattoo, though he certainly considered it a family effort. Running into Elsie in a high-end clothing store had not only helped him settle the issue of which tie to purchase (“If you’re not buying silk, why buy? Oh, Merlin, but not that one. Orange? Chris… I expected better of you) but had also settled the issue of him looking more like a man of reputation, to have a respectable woman on his arm.

Elsie had recently become price real estate among the pureblood community. Her return to the pureblood scene, a scene she had pretty much ignored when she had been distracted by the Manhattan club atmosphere, had caused waves. She had entered the society in hardly any clothing and without a damn. It had shocked and awed, and now many of the pureblood women were scrambling to take on this new style. Naturally, she had taken to a more tasteful style, always intent to stand out.

She had also shied away from pureblood men when she had first returned. Why wouldn't she? With Nash and Graham Gordon hot on her heels. But her run in with Augustus had left something within her... as more and more pureblood men sought her attention, she found that by being the runaway one night stand often meant she had a power over them. With this plan in her mind, it made hurting them much easier. In fact, it was fun, knowing she would be the one slighted first.

Augustus, thus far, had been the only damage she regretted.

She entered the garden party through a lattice-work arbor, Christofer watching her every movement. She smiled around, moving gently across the lawn. "Can you get me some champagne?" her sugary voice requested. He squeezed her hand and walked away. Elsie blinked her long lashes and turned her head, scanning the crowd for the day's entertainment.

(OOC: This took ages, I apologise. Got there in the end, though.)

The manor house of Lord Edmund Farce, and its surrounding lands, generated a modest annual income of twenty thousand galleons; the majority of which was naturally assumed to have been blundered away in a succession of card games that the right honourable Lord Edmund knew he stood no chance of winning yet nevertheless pursued. The equally honourable wife he kept was the fourth in a long line of predecessors that all failed on one vital point: throwing a suitable and universally enjoyed tea party. This Lady Farce, who’s Christian name was, eventually, given only as Teddy though it's presumed that it was Theodora, had been found by the aforementioned Lord in the Vienna salon of her own late husband surrounded by no less than a thousand of her good friends. They were married immediately, her foresight to occupy an event planner with the menial events of, well, planning making her rather perfect for Lord Edmund. Marrying immediately, one eager for the woman who knew the difference between high tea and a dinner party while the other wanting to be divested of her mourning blacks, they only had the time to find two witnesses: the priest and Lord Edmund's polo partner, the young, brilliant Augustus Rookwood whom on many occasions was noted by the diligent maids - but never to Lord Edmund, kept to themselves - to have been quitting the honourable lady's room in the small hours in an inappropriate but not unbecoming state of undress.

It was to one of these famed and infamous parties that the entirety of polite society was called on that pleasantly breezy summer afternoon. With them they brought their retinues of unpleasant and intolerable family members and with them in turn came the hangers on and, predictably, a handful of photographers who were quickly and abruptly swallowed up by one of the hedgerows so the game could commence. They'd be let go of when the game was finished. One hopes. But yes, now that all and sundry were mobilised either on the lawn under the long canopy that had been erected to save the fair from the sun or inside, protected by the airy marble that invited the breeze in for tea and water biscuits, the game could begin. The groundskeepers ran out, poking odd bits grass back into the holes from whence they’d been thrown up by the horses earlier that morning and a small titter began to rise up in the area under the canopy where the wives of the players were beginning to fill themselves with excitement for a sport they had enjoyed rather more in their youth when it paid to be the sweetheart of a polo player. Now, however, it was more of a trial, a million or so games later.

Inside the changing room where arguably the best and greatest team, captained of course by Lord Edmund, were getting ready, there was loud chatter about anything other than polo really and, with his bare back pressed up against the cool tiles, Augustus Rookwood watched as his friends, a little older than he remembered, competed in verbal spars, each daring the other to come up with a more extravagant lie which, as per the usual way of things, always revolved around some sort of lady love that they had found for themselves on their travels. According to Lord Edmund, he’d rather fallen in love with another Austrian princess or archduchess or whoever she was. Their other friends, Rickard, Lord Morley and Twat Nicolai, Lord Higbald, all burst into peals of laughter as they donned their jerseys, returning in kind with tales of their own far-flung princesses, the latter even providing pictorial evidence which was thrown boisterously under Augustus’ nose much to the man’s derision. He recalled his own private pleasure, Maia who had whirled in and out of his life like a summer storm. She was still technically his if the deal with Aaron stood as crassly as it had done at the time but she’d named a place, he’d bought the apartment and she was leading her life in Boston with all of the trappings that his money could provide. Thus, he couldn’t truly boast about his last leading conquest – unless of course you counted Elsie, but she was another thing altogether.

“Isn’t it about time you got married again, old chap?” Rickard inquired, throwing himself down on the bench beside Augustus, his bright red hair flipping around his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest, the gold band, fresh and new on his fourth finger, left hand, shining in the bright light streaming through the windows. Augustus turned his head, considering the man briefly before shrugging his shoulders, lifting his scarlet jersey from the floor before tugging it overhead.

“I do think it’d suit you again, August,” Edmund threw in brightly, lacing up his boots. “The big white wedding, big buxom woman… we know what you like.”

“Clearly not,” Augustus muttered dryly, running his fingers through his hair. “I’d rather stay the way I am at the moment thank you.”

“Living out of hotel rooms?” Nicolai prodded, flopping down the other side of Augustus. “Go home. Get married. Have a load of babies.”

Augustus opened his mouth to retort, wondering when his friends became so family orientated. He looked between them, his gaze resting finally on Edmund whose hands drove idly into his pockets. He cocked an eyebrow at Augustus and the latter sighed heavily, pushing his hands on his knees and lifting himself up from the bench, leaning down only briefly to snatch up his boots from the floor. He didn’t want to talk about marriage and babies – the latter especially for it was a stark reminder that he already had babies. He had Cecilia. He had Aurelia. He had Katarina. And damn it he had Kendall – not to mention his grandsons and Athena, technically another daughter. He’d abandoned them all in a spectacular fashion that could only serve to get him a father of the year award. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate them all even further by remarrying and producing a handful of other children. The likelihood of that happening was, for a start, desperately slim. Further than that, he doubted he was marriage material now, given the Dark Mark and the Azkaban timing and his mad-as-cats family – he wasn’t a man a self-respecting family would want to pay their daughter’s dowry to.

“Teddy’s got a sister,” Edmund offered hopefully, “a terrible party planner but she’s got an excellent backside. You can’t have it all, really.”

“Then I’ll have none of it, thanks,” Augustus muttered, lacing up his boots and tying the laces in two tight knots. “Don’t bother trying to set me up, alright?” he added after a moment, reaching for the kneepads beside him. Once they were adjusted, Augustus picked up his helmet, looking pointedly at his friends who were all still staring at him wistfully.

“I still have eighteen months,” Nicolai spat, shoving away the palm Rickard held out to him. Augustus arched an eyebrow. “Well, we had to take a bet. It’s been a year, Gusto. Get yourself a woman or I lose a hundred galleons.”

“Set yourself up for a loss then,” Augustus muttered, sliding out of the door.

The game was an eventful one as per usual. Augustus melded into his number three role with familiar ease, gliding up and down the flanks with his horse between his legs. The whip he threw away, familiar with the animal and vice versa, a small nudge to the side enough to set her up at pace. Their team on – as always, Edmund would later crow after too many glasses of champagne – and Augustus took his horse a few times up and down the length of the pitch to cool her down, relax her, before helping the stable boys get her back into her box for some well-deserved hay and a drink of water. There he found the champagne was already being poured and Augustus smirked, undoing the bindings on his mare’s mane and tail, combing his fingers through the hair before patting her gently and moving out into the main stable area where a hand exchanged his sweaty shirt for a new, crisp, clean one.

After getting a glass poured and shoved into his hand, Augustus made his way out into the main party with his friends, all of whom were set upon by their families, delighted at their wins. Augustus accepted a few kisses and a hug or two but soon weaved himself out of the fray, his eyes falling upon Medea who was stood with a handful of other girls her age and, notably, without her father to chaperone. Seventeen years old or not, Augustus was still of the opinion that no young, unattached woman should be at these parties alone, especially given the predatory nature of many of the purebloods in attendance. Some wanted the more carnal pleasures. Others wanted a ring and the money or land that came with the girl. Medea certainly had that, too, and so when her dark, Rookwood gaze lifted from her blonde friend to Augustus, he was glad that she wasn’t embarrassed to see him.

“Uncle August!” She exclaimed, rushing out to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Augustus moved the champagne out of the way at the last second, curling his other arm around her as he felt her lips flutter briefly on his cheek before she pulled away, twirling deliberately so he would look and appraise her dress which he knew of course must have come from Catherine, her mother, a woman who knew no bounds when it came to making sure that her daughters were well presented. It pained Augustus to think that his niece was having children. He was just glad that Medea didn’t insist on calling him great-uncle. That would have crucified him, he was sure.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he assured her gently, picking a glass of tall, pink lemonade off of a passing tray. He handed it to her and she smiled brightly in thanks. “Who are you here with?” Augustus asked after taking a sip of the champagne.

“Mum said you’d be here,” Medea explained, bringing her lips around the straw.

“So you’re here with me,” Augustus chuckled before sighing, shaking his head at her.

“Oh, don’t turn me away, Uncle August,” Medea cried, rushing to him once more. “Please, please, please. I’m having such a good time.”

Augustus pressed his lips into a thin line, looking at her solemnly, his eyes sparkling with mirth he couldn’t suppress. Sensing it, Medea’s mouth curled up into a large smirk she kissed his cheek again before hurrying away. Augustus opened his mouth, managing to catch her attention long enough to get her to meet him back at the polo field in the afternoon to go home but before he could get acquiescence from her she’d disappeared and Augustus was alone with only champagne for company. Still, he didn’t mind too much for the champagne was as good company as any.
However, it wasn’t going to work quite like that. Through the crowd of simpering women and equally unattractive men, Augustus spotted Elsie as though it was some sort of cruel twist of fate. He sighed heavily, his eyes flitting across her companion who was the picture of youth, distinction and all of the rest of it. Augustus found that he did care although he was fighting everything within himself not to. He instead, to find some solace, he swallowed the champagne and exchanged the empty glass for a full one from a passing waiter.

And so, it began.

Elsie thought the game of polo itself was highly overrated, but she loved every opportunity to be around anything equestrian. It was about the only pastime that she had taken up that fit the lifestyle she had always been meant to be living. The way a man with a taste for automobiles would find himself unable to stay away from a fine car and its owner, she could not keep herself from the stables. She knew, by the end of the day, she would be in the stables, brushing over a horse, weighing the risks of taking it out for a ride.

For now, watching the game of polo with men who were competing only for the sake of later bragging rights and the admiration of their dates would have to do. It was evident that every man had some experience riding, but few had the horsemanship she preferred. It being one of the few things she was genuinely good at, Elsie could not help but be critical of other’s riding. That man was spurring his horse too quickly from a stop to a full canter ; that man sat too heavy in the saddle ; that man’s head turned too much for the horse to know where to go ; that man was going to have a sore body the next day, so poorly was he seated.

Elsie let out a sigh. A young man of school age was watching too, and he turned her head at his sigh. She swirled her champagne, lolling her head as she surveyed one of the player’s turning his horse much too sharply. “Men often forget that there’s sport in it for the horse too. They make it all work for them.” She glanced to the boy. “You make sure you’re not one of them. Always make sure the other is having fun. Understand?” The quirk in his lips expressed his distaste at being lectured, but the face delivering the lecture seemed to make up for it. “Yes.”

On her other side, Christofer had been talking to some fellow by the name of Gaspard about something to do with gold or bonds or something Elsie had no interest in. Christofer was chuckling and now desires to reel his attractive date into his conversation. He turned towards Elsie, a hand floating to her elbow as he attempted at a charming smile. “What was that, dear?” Elsie’s expression of boredom and distaste was hardly masked in her sweet smile, her eyes looking up at him with a thin veil of sarcasm as though he were her own private Hercules. “Oh, nothing within your range of interest, darling.”

His smile remained but his eyebrows flicked in confusion. Oh, good boy. He knew he was being insulted, but he wasn’t sure why, or how, or what exactly about. She swallowed the rest of her drink and moved away, walking along the fence that separated the players from the audience. She neared the end closest to the stables and, with the game over, watched the men dismount and lead the horses off, no mind to the sweat gathered on their flanks of the air still full in their chests. One player, however, remained to allow his horse to get the jitters out, loosen the sweat. Elsie leaned forward curiously – this was one of the few players she had considered a decent rider, and he had been the only to ride without a whip. At these events, a man who stood out for good reasons was always worth paying extra attention to.

His head turned and Elsie pulled away, immediately regretting the silly mistake of allowing her interest to be so quickly piqued. Of course it would be Augustus Rookwood. It could not have been more ironic, short of it being Nash, of course. She blinked and glanced around. Her intention had been to enter on Cristofer’s arm only to slight him by exiting on another’s. She had a plan for every man she met now, and it was going to be easy enough to harm the boring man’s ego. Now, however, she found herself in need of his company. She needed to be somewhere she was not expected to think so as to catch up to this sudden change of circumstance.

She found Cristofer and he smiled widely, having forgotten their minor misunderstanding. She had caught a server and asked him for a drink stronger that champagne, and he caught her as she reached her date, handing her a cocktail of some sort. Cristofer’s hand sliding onto the small of her back, she sampled the drink and found it delicious with the kick she had been hoping for. “Mmm, this is spectacular.” She withdrew a galleon and slid it into the server’s apron, a coy look on her face. He grinned roguishly at her and she smiled. “Thank you.”

He stepped away and she turned to look at Cristofer. “Shall we?”

Of course, within a  few minutes, she found herself sitting at one of the small round tables, a third to a stunningly boring conversation. Cristofer was discussing the new estate of Donnington with its new lord, who could discuss at length the exact square footage, every inch of shrubbery, and the precise amount of marble put into the building. Elsie had gone through her cocktail and had received another which was gradually becoming more ice than drink. She was not certain she could lost another count of doors, windows, and steps.

She had seen Augustus moving throughout the party, thought she had felt his eyes once or twice. Now she turned to glance at him and found their gazes crossed, as it were. She knew she had no right to engage him in conversation, no right to monopolize his time. But he had been good to his horse, and he had been kind to her. And, right now, it was hard to think of an arm tattoo when her very sanity was at stake. Her mouth formed the words ‘Save me’ before she could stop herself.

(OOC: I'm so sorry, this isn't even excusable.)

Save me.

Augustus Rookwood was a socialite-cum-businessman. He made his business because he was social and he was social because of his business. Talking with nobodies, somebodies and everybody was part of the deal because then he could tap into any circle, every circle and in each one he’d find business. He’d find someone he could manipulate and take advantage of in order to make a fast buck. It was the way he’d always done things, especially since Azkaban. He hadn’t liked to linger. Unfortunately, that mentality seemed to have bred itself into everything he did, much to his chagrin. The champagne helped, however.

“So, Augustus,” the plump Aurelius Shrew squinted at him over the top of his pale pink rimmed spectacles, his voice nasally as ever, his shirt as bright and offending as ever and his wife as skinny and as put-out looking as always. She was rail like to his rotund, football-related form. He was down to earth whilst she remained all airs and graces for the sake of maintaining some sense of respectability. Aurelius was sleeping with one of the gardeners. She was sleeping with the maid. “You’re going into business with Aaron whatsisbob again are you?”

“No, Mr Shrew,” Augustus smiled tersely. “Aaron and I finished our business in Alexandria. I do, however, have a meeting with Claude Vander-Housen on Monday so I’m not completely without finance.”

Then with that said, Augustus parted ways with them, leaving Aurelius to stew in his realisation that Augustus had made the better choice – not least because Claude’s wife was to die for and Claude played the absentee husband to a highly sexed woman indeed. Augustus, needless to say, loved doing business with him. That was Monday. Tuesday was Thailand and he wouldn’t be back until Friday, spending the end of the week at Madam Wu’s spa and retreat and then Saturday-Sunday he was free to chase Kendall around London to get some sense out of the boy.

However, before Augustus could find a new group he spotted Elsie once more and for a moment he stilled, watching as those lips that had been so very regularly dreamt about morphed into words he knew very well. He glanced round, a waiter passing that enabled him to swap out his champagne dregs for a fresh glass. He then made his way through the crowd, greeting a few people with kisses before finding his way to Elsie who was surrounded by, in his biased opinion, the dullest of dullards.

“Miss Norton you are asked after,” Augustus broke into the conversation, extending a hand to Elsie. “I’m afraid I’ll be borrowing her, gentlemen. I trust you can be left alone for a while, yes?”

Augustus had certainly seen her, for they had made eye contact and some expression, undiscernible from the distance between them, had briefly clouded his expression, darkening the handsome features that had captured her for an evening. She knew it was irresponsible and unfair to call upon him in her time of need, but it seemed that there was no problem. He did not come to her rescue, so there was no harm done. Though she certainly was not going to celebrate a return to the topics of tapestries and shrubberies.

"Elsie would make a very good mistress for such an estate," Christofer said, a finger reaching out to tilt her chin up. His eyes took in her face hungrily and she pursed her lips. "However, she'd be too pretty an ornament, even for Donnington. I need to find her somewhere she fits right in."

Elsie flicked her eyes skyward. She just could not do this anymore. She stood, throwing her napkin down and retrieving her clutch. "I'm going to begin a search for just that. Excuse me."

She turned and immediately found her vision and path impeded by the man of the hour himself. She started and took a step back, surprised. She had decided he wasn't going to e rescuing here but here he was... seemingly doing just that. She blinked and then smiled, turning slowly back to her previous company. "It seems my search has come to an end. They'll be fine."

Christofer perked with suspicion. "Elsie-"

She kissed his cheek. "Have a nice life."

She took Augustus' hand and turned, walking with elegance away from the men behind her. Smile still plastered on her face, she whispered to the man next to her. "Men like them make me question whether or not living is even worth it. These men rule out world. What hope do we have?"

(OOC: Ickle bit of godmodding. Well, he's leading her round. )

Gazing coolly at the young men whose assertion about Elsie’s place Augustus had the misfortune of overhearing, the Rookwood man began to consider whether the Dolohov man would be missed amongst the torrid amount of rats that sickening family produced. He managed to chase away those considerations, albeit he had already decided where the unfortunate wizard would be abandoned once Augustus was finished with him, because it was a course like that which had landed him in Azkaban, a course like that which had seen Elsie elect to leave that morning that Augustus hadn’t quite been able to shirk from his consciousness. They’d get their comeuppance eventually – though, perhaps not by Augustus’ direct hand.

Letting Elsie slide her hand into his, Augustus curled his fingers gently around her small, dainty appendage. He then turned, allowing the men one last, studying look, committing their faces to memory, and then they slowly began to make their way over to the pavilion where the gaggle of women in pastel colours and men in striped suits talked about nothing as though it was the most interesting conversation in the world. Augustus handed his champagne glass to Elsie, picking up another from a waiter they passed. He spotted his little charge of the day across on the tennis court, clapping enthusiastically with a handful of that years offer from the depleted Macnair ranks. There was a certain part of him that wanted to take her away, to keep her from such riff raff but he felt all too much like his father at that thought and he swallowed it away, focusing on Elsie.

“That is where you are wrong, my dear,” he murmured, bringing her knuckles to his lips so he could pop a kiss on her fingers, dropping their joined hands back to the side after a moment. “The world is run by men like me and we allow men like that to believe they are the ones in charge. Really they are but marionettes – if only you know what strings to pull, hm?”

He led Elsie inside gently by the hand, his grip on her loose but pressing, instructive and imploring for her to come with him. They passed in through the French doors, the soft blossom pink linen curtains billowing in the fragrant breeze coming off of the trees outside, and Augustus’ spare hand found the shiny brass doorknob that opened two stark, white double doors into an unused billiards room that was often locked due to Farce having thoroughly gone off of the sport after Augustus and Rickard had beaten him and Nicolai soundly.

Augustus released Elsie’s hand and shut the door with a quiet click, those lingering in the expansive hall drunk and none the wiser to the door being opened and closed. Augustus turned, sliding off the blazer he’d donned over the polo shirt. With one quick extension of his hand he tossed it onto one of the neoclassical chairs that Farce adored and Augustus despised. He was glad to have it out of his view. Turning then, Augustus slid his hands across the mahogany frame of the billiards table, fixing his gaze upon Elsie. His eyes remained steady, penetrating. A clever trick of the light could have perhaps shed something on the slight feelings of hurt that had sprang in him after her rebuff – though you’d never see him admit to it. No, if anything he was livid, still.

Stepping around the billiards table, Augustus reached for Elsie, slipping an arm around her waist. He brought his other hand up, touching his thumb against his chin as he took her in at a closer proximity.

“Death Eaters are bad, remember?” He hissed, turning his arm a little, letting daylight shine on the mark that was still stark and clear, etched into his arm. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her jaw, his hand snaking down, feeling the soft curves of her body. His mouth found her neck, her shoulder and once he bent his knees just a touch, her collarbone, also. He then brought his hands back up, sweeping them over her hips to settle at her waist. “I didn’t pull you in here to play billiards, Els,” he told her, his voice low and earthy. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

((No worries at all. Also, the woman in the sig looks sort of Elsie-ish so the whole thing hurts me a lot.))

She was getting away from the horrid men at the table behind her, and that was the main thing. And she could feel by Christofer's gaze that he ws absolutely moritified. The way Augustus led her hinted at enough intimacy to make it seem as though Christofer's date was running off with another man right in front of him. The humiliation would last, would simmer, and Elsie would ensure that it was finalized in the next public outing. Christofer was just the sort to make a scene at the next brunch demanding answers, and Elsie would give him a peice of her mind.

Another pureblood ego mutiliated. And she had some information on his business dealings that could be very detrimental to him if she decided he deserved a trial.

Nevertheless, it was important that the embarassment hit fully. She needed to melt into Augustus to make it clear that Christofer had lost his prize. And that she did. Her posture was much looser than than usual, as though she were perfectly at ease with Augustus. In public, she was. The distrust she had in him was, thus far, nothing more than precaution. The distrust was reserved mostly for herself. She was starting this new chapter of her life in which she was in control. She had a bad feeling that she might surrender that control for an enjoyable connection.

She tilted her head, smiling at his words. Unfortunately, men like Christofer did have influence. They spoke and the masses listened to the ignorance that spewed from their lips. To men like Augustus, Christofer and Co. were gnats to be ignored. But not everyone was like Augustus. Elsie moved between high and low society, and she knew that any man with power, even if it was fake, had influence. And influence was everything.

Elsie smiled and nodded at those who greeted her, continuing on her path. She drank the champagne, and it was gone by the time they found themselves alone. Alone. This is when she began questioning her actions, her choices. She knew she was in dangerous waters, because all of the effort put into taking down pureblooded men had given her a very lonely month or so. No true affection was spared for anyone beyond Nate and Claire - and even they had things about them that broke Elsie's heart.

And here Augustus was, devouring her with eyes that stung from her refusal, still willing to give her another chance. Her smile was gone as he approached and she turned her head away from him as his lips explored her jaw and shoulders. A fluttering within her demanded she give up this foolhardy resolve, but she closed her eyes and rolled her lips inward. "Augustus..." Was it okay that she called him that? It seemed so casual, so familiar. "I..." He pulled her closer and her hands instinctively gripped the front of his shirt. Her eyelashes heavily lifted from her eyes, looking into his. "I shouldn't."

I'm taking down all of your friends and business partners. I have a conflict of interest.

Lust was so primitive. The cynic in Augustus Rookwood was despairing of it yet it was something which had flooded through his veins since he had been a teenager and he had fed it from that point onwards, giving in to easy philandering ways that had gotten him chased from more than his fair share of bedrooms. He couldn’t count on either hand how many times fathers complained to Raghnall, shouting blue murder at the Rookwood patriarch that Augustus had stolen the sweetness of their daughters. Often, however, Augustus was one to protest that he had merely been one in a long line though it had never served to save him from punishment and that in itself never served to deter him, either. Unfortunately also, Kendall had picked up on that trait and had used it, to both his enjoyment and his folly and peril. It had left neither of them.

“Shouldn’t, what’s shouldn’t?” Augustus muttered against Elsie’s throat. His hands continued to swan up and down her sides, sliding affectionately across her hips, his fingertips tickling slightly in at her waist. “But it’s your choice,” his fingertips found the edge of the zipper to her dress. “I am not going to sway you,” the zipper gave a bit of whine as he tugged gently at it, “but I will try,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss at her neck again. “Because you’re too lovely an ornament, to quote your bastard of a Dolohov, to not be spread across my billiards table.”

The thought was as carnal as you like it and left up to Augustus’ vibrant imagination it was truly a wonder why he hadn’t taken the real woman, lifted her onto the table and had his wicked way with her. He wanted to give her the choice, though. Either way he’d still eventually get to play out what he wanted. Regardless of whether or not she wanted him today, she’d be left with the nagging ‘what ifs’ and beyond that, he’d still be able to chase her because if her intention was to attend all of the Pureblood functions for that season, Augustus had a fantastic excuse not to skip out on them. He wasn’t interested in courtly love. He didn’t know what it was he wanted it.

Perhaps it was because she’d said no. In fact, he was sure it was that.

Elsie seemed to always have this division of desires. It had started back in Durmstrang. She wanted to boast her true connections, the people who thought her worthy of their company, to shut up the mockery of her peers. But just as much she wanted them to see how few explanations she owed any of them. And then again, when Claire and Robin had broken up. One part of her wanted more than anything to step into the role she had once before occupied, as Robin Ivanov's lover, confidante, and friend. He was finally free to be hers. But another part of her needed him to be with Claire, because she had sacrificed her own feelings for two years for them to be together, and they couldn't just break up. And even more, she wanted to remain Claire's best friend for all of time.

Those had only been the start. There had been her conflicting desires of wanting to have fun and wanting to be treated like more than a lay. Her desire to settle with Nash and her desire to conquer via her sexuality. Her desire to escape versus her desire to stay. Her current desire to find a place versus her desire to destroy those who refused her a place, thereby strengthening her status as outsider. And now, her desire to stick to the plan was facing her desire to find some connection in another human being.

This felt different than last time. Before, it had been sweet. Sure, the night had been traced with innuendo and expectation, but the act itself had been communal, tender, and affectionate. Now, anger and hurt and distrust fueled the energy, and Elsie would be lying if she said it did not excite her. That was it. They were trying to conquer each other then. She had to cling to that hope - only that way could she get everything she wanted.

"Your billiards table, your friends, your party," Elsie hissed into his ear as his lips explored her neck. She smirked. "You're just upset because I'm not yours. I'm about to make you mine, though." And she turned her head, immediately pressing her lips against his, her body too closing the distance between them. One hand worked on freeing his belt as the slipped around his neck to pull them towards the table.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch because as soon as Elsie kissed him, that was it. Game on. Augustus’s hands stopped their rough caressing, lost the caress and he grabbed at Elsie, lifting her by the thighs and slamming her onto the billiards table, moving between her legs as his fingers pulled at the back of her dress. It snapped open, the grips and zip falling away and his hands seized across the scalding skin of her back as though he was a man starved of her – and that he was. He pulled down the straps, drank in her flesh wantonly with his lips. He pulled her legs apart, tickled his lips across every inch that was intermittently peppered with freckles, from ankle to hip he kissed her until every piece of skin was his. Until she in all of her entirety was laid out before him and his. His, no one else’s. Not Dolohov’s. Not belonging to any other sickening waste of Pureblood. She was his.  

Gasping for his breath, Augustus rubbed his hand across his face as he looked up at the ceiling paintings staring back down at him, the smiles on the angels suddenly looking saucier than they ever had done before. He couldn’t believe that it had been that it had boiled down to. A billiards table was clichéd but Augustus himself had never done it. He couldn’t have imagined how easy it was – although perhaps it was the adrenaline that was till coursing through him, aching to seize up his joints and make him regret the excursions of his day. His athleticism was waning slowly but surely and while he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight, his body wasn’t promising to keep him spry forever. That was mind over matter for now, though. He needed to gauge how this was going to play out.

But then again, it occurred to him that he was Augustus Rookwood and he was not going to simper after a woman. It wasn’t like him. He considered that his only problem was that he had been so ridiculously rejected when he’d gone for tenderness – he’d decided to respect her. He didn’t have to. Now, however, he didn’t plan on doing the same. Augustus instead donned his clothes once more and picked up the glass of champagne, toasting Elsie mockingly before taking it down his throat in one fell swoop. He then turned the flute and dripped a few bobbles of the drink across her hip bone and he leaned over, keeping his gaze on her carefully as he licked a line across her skin from bone to bone, sweeping down in the middle for the briefest of teasing moments before leaning back and licking lips.

Augustus lifted up his arm and looked at his watch before dropping his hands onto her legs. He place one kiss to her thigh before looking up once more, straightening his spine and fixing his appearance, glancing over Elsie to the gilt mirror on the opposite wall. He smirked a little, flicking his hair back into place before looking down at the woman before him.

“I’m afraid I have a lunch date with one of my friends, love,” he expressed silkily. “I’d cancel but … I have some wheels in motion I have to make sure don’t get out from under my control. You understand, don’t you?”

He tapped his fingers against her stomach and smirked broadly. “Raincheck?” He inquired.

Last button pressed, his little revenge in action, Augustus felt sufficiently petty and he turned on his heel, pocketing the scrap of material he’d been so keen to rip off of her. Without further word he opened the doors and then he was gone, with only the slam of the door behind him and the woman lingering still in the room acting as the only evidence that anyone else had even been in there at all.