Tempted

Ginny slid the last box of Weasley's Wildfire Whizbangs onto the appropriate shelf and sighed with relief. Turning to perch on a rung of the rolling ladder she had been using she set her elbows on her knees, dropped her head into her hands and massaged her scalp through the profusion of scarlet curls that marked her as a Weasley. She and Ron had thought that working for the twins would be a bit of a lark, getting paid to prank on each other all day. The end of their first full week found them more than disabused of any illusions they had once harbored. She was tired, her back ached, and Fred's parsimony would have had a Gringott's goblin weeping with pride. Sparing one last glance around the storeroom to ensure that nothing had been forgotten, her eyes came to rest on a shining metallic disk lying on a nearby counter. She allowed a slow grin to curl her full lips, it was nearly closing, there hadn't been a customer in for some time and she was all alone. What was a girl to do?

Damien Stone strode down the darkening street smirking to himself as the thinning crowds parted before him only to reconverge in his wake. For all that he said that he was more than capable of existing outside of his father's considerable shadow, Damien found that he still enjoyed the recognition that came with being the only son of one of the most influential men in the wizarding world. But he was more than capable of making his own way. Only two years out of Hogwarts, he had already begun to develop a reputation for having something akin to a sixth sense when it came to making money. Not that he really needed money mind, but a lad did need something to call his own. And, he had to admit, he enjoyed it. The thrill of taking risks, the challenge of sizing up allies and competitors alike, those were the things that got him out of bed in the morning, he wouldn't have been a Slytherin if they didn't. Take his latest venture for example. This evening he had an appointment with the infamous Weasley Twins to discuss expanding their joke shop, setting up franchise stores and widening their already substantial mail-order business. It was an ambitious, long-ranging plan that had Damien grinning at its brazenness. The shop had been open for little more than a year and was already the bane of parents all over wizarding London, the potential for mischief making on a global scale was just too good to pass up.

He paused a moment before the luridly painted storefront of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to check his reflection in the glass of the large display window. He straightened the dark blue light weight summer robes he wore open over a tight white t-shirt and khaki trousers and double checked his artfully mussed brown hair. Satisfied that his appearance was nothing short of the epitome of casual affluence Damien pressed one large palm to the screamingly orange door and walked in like he owned the place. Unfortunately, there was no one about to appreciate the spectacle. Frowning slightly he considered calling out, when he heard music drifting out a door behind the register counter. Looking for a means of access, he spied the muted brass of a pair of hinges further down the darkly polished wood. He lifted the panel, stepped through and replaced it, taking care to do so as quietly as he could with out really knowing why he wasn't quite ready to announce his presence. The reward for his caution revealed itself when he reached the open door to the storeroom.

Ginny picked up the gleaming disk and set it to spinning on the countertop. There was too much magic in the air of Diagon Alley for muggle technology to work well, but where there was a will, there was a way. When a low moan emitted from the CD revolving on the scarred wooden surface she cast aside her light-weight, rather threadbare summer robe and stood in the middle of the storeroom wearing a dark green tank top and a pair of faded button fly jeans that she had appropriated from Ron's hamper. Rolling her head to relieve some of the tension she'd been carrying in her neck and shoulders she began to swing her hips in lazy figure eights to the steady, suggestive beat. She loved to dance, but she rarely got the chance to just go with it what with half a dozen brothers constantly underfoot. Now that she knew she was all alone, Ginny planned to take full advantage. She closed her eyes and felt conscious thought slip away, content to just be.

I would die for you. I would die for you. I've been dyin' just to feel you by my side, to know that you're mine.

Damien was vaguely aware that he was standing in the open doorway with his mouth hanging open like a dim-witted peasant, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything to rectify the situation.

I will cry for you. I will cry for you. I will wash away your pain with all my tears and drown your fear.

There was a half-naked woman dancing around in the Weasley's storeroom. Yeah dancing, if that was dancing he was a Hufflepuff. It looked more like a primitive mating ritual and she, an incandescent pagan goddess.

I will pray for you. I will pray for you. I will sell my soul for something pure and true, someone like you.

Her pale skin glowed golden in the low light playing over her bare arms and the flesh exposed by the gap between the indecently low slung jeans and the scrap of fabric that a generous person might call a shirt. Her thick, red tresses were gilded in the scant illumination slanting through the small, dusty window.

See your face every place that I walk in. Hear your voice every time that I'm talkin'. You will believe in me and I will never be ignored.

Her back was turned to him and he watched the play of muscle there as she raised her arms over her head and increased the intensity with which her hips swung, languid circles replaced with sharp little arcs. The steady pulse of the music was driving her rounded hips before it, finding an echo in his suddenly pounding blood. The voice of the woman singing wormed its way into his head, thrumming with want.

I will burn for you, feel pain for you. I will twist the knife and bleed my achin' heart and tear it apart.

He wondered if she would move like that beneath him, skin flushed, breath coming in searing pants, sweat pooling in the small of her back, hips rocking in a different sort of rhythm. Would she dig her blunt nails into his back? Wrap her legs around his hips? Would she gasp out his name in a breathy whisper or would it be a desperate moan ripped from somewhere deep inside of her?

I will lie for you, beg and steal for you. I will crawl on hands and knees until you see, you're just like me.

He could feel the sight of her burning itself into his brain, becoming the sort of memory that he would find himself turning to in the small hours of the night, eyes stinging with wakefulness, body humming with need.

Violate all the love that I'm missin'. Throw away all the pain that I'm livin'. You will believe in me and I can never be ignored.

Suppressing the groan that rose in his throat at the thought of her writhing on silken sheets, Damien pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and attempted to regain some small thread of self-control. Finding a measure of success (at least his breathing had evened) he looked up and nearly choked. She had turned around.

I would die for you. I would kill for you.

Fiery curls brushed over her closed eyes, long lashes breaking like a wave over the soft angle of her cheekbones.

I will steal for you. I'd do time for you.

The pouting curve of her lower lip was trapped by even white teeth as she slowly lowered her arms and allowed her hands to skim over the outer swell of her full breasts, down over the flat plane of her stomach, thumbs hooking through the belt loops of her jeans.

I will wait for you. I'd make room for you.

The pattern of her dancing changed again, switching to a back and forth rolling motion of her lower body that was all too reminiscent of Damien's earlier imaginings.

I'd sail ships for you, to be close to you, to be part of you, 'cause I believe in you. I believe in you. I would die for you.

He idly thought that his pants suddenly felt entirely too tight to be healthy when a sound from the other side of the counter brought several conclusions crashing home. The first of which was that the dancing figure could only be one person and the second was that he was about to face her older brothers with what felt like the most intense erection of his life doing its level best to tear its way out of his ridiculously expensive trousers. Thanking the fact that what he had been watching was not visible from the front door and that the counters were so high Damien turned to greet his prospective business partners while visions of Ginny continued to dance in his head.