Rating: PG-13 for randy thoughts
Word count: 2,363
Pairing: malvernrob/Ginny. Yeah, you heard me.
Summary: Rob and Ginny work out their marriage problems.
Warnings: All-around debauchery. OOC-ization of real people. Unimaginative title.
Author's notes: Written as a response to Rob's genius Neville/msmoocow story.
"Honey? What are you doing?" Ginny's voice called from the bedroom. It was nearly midnight, and her husband had spent the better part of the night glued to the computer screen.
"Nothing. I'll be coming to bed in a minute..." Rob's voice trailed off distractedly. He was rather busy, after all.
Ginny snorted, her voice taking on a resigned tone. "All right, then." From the sound of flannel pajamas against cotton sheets, and the rustle of paper, he knew that his wife had gotten into bed and taken up her favorite romance novel again. He scowled, thinking of the bloke on the cover, and his hulking, muscular physique. Shrugging, he went back to work, fingers dancing over the keyboard with ease.
It hadn't always been this way. They'd met near the turn of the new millennium, and had slowly butsurely fallen in love. Ginny's ex-boyfriend, Harry, who had become a priest after the war, had married them in the summer of 2005, after his twenty-sixth birthday and before hers. (Voldemort had hexed off Harry's bollocks in battle, and a tearful Ginny had promised she'd always love him, but wasn't in love with him, and could never fully be with him again.) Afterwards, he had swept her off to Niagara Falls for a lovely honeymoon. Of course, they didn't exactly know how lovely the falls were, having rarely left the room. Then they had settled into Rob's home, and made a new life for themselves in Canada. Molly came to visit often, plying them with food and other household necessities, but mostly they kept in touch with her family and friends through occasional Floo calls. Surprisingly, Ginny's background (namely, Arthur's collection) enabled her to pick up on Muggle life fairly quickly.
During the first few weeks of their marriage, it had been so exciting. The spark the sheer wonder of being in love...and ahem...expressing their love. Yet lately, it had been awkward between them. Rob didn't know what was missing, but for some reason making love felt more like a chore, something to get over and done with. For some reason, he found himself faking headaches more often than not, and he couldn't remember the last time that they both had...well, "enjoyed themselves".
Sighing, he pushed his chair away form the computer desk and walked to the bathroom. He knew that if he took long enough to brush his teeth and ready himself for bed, his wife would be fast asleep before he got there. And the absence of a pained attempt at conversation was something he was counting on.
The next day was a Monday, and he thanked the powers that be for his day off. Trudging blearily towards the computer at noon, he noticed a note attached to the monitor.
Rob, thanks for this morning. I really appreciated it. You're the best husband anyone could ever ask for.
I love you,
Huh. Well, that was odd. Had he made some romantic mumble in his sleep?
As he sat down to work on his next masterpiece, he couldn't help but notice the faint aroma of blueberry in the air.
That evening brought something similar to last night, but truthfully he wasn't surprised. It had been routine for them to avoid eye contact while getting into bed, but as Rob let sleep overtake him, he felt a small, warm hand close over his own.
When he woke up, Ginny was already in the shower, getting ready for work. As she got out of the bathroom, clouds of steam billowing in her wake, she pecked Rob on the cheek and smiled. "Have a nice day, love. Can't wait for the surprise you promised me tonight!"
"Uh, right. Surprise, yeah..." Truth be told, he was sort of distracted by the sight of his lovely wife in naught but a towel. He'd seen it all before, of course, but somehow today she looked different. Perky, perhaps. Bouncier, invigorated. Happy, even?
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stepped into the bath. By the time he was dressed, she was already gone. Something she said echoed in his mind, though. What surprise could he have promised her in the hours between slumber and morning?
As he didn't need to be at work until noon on this day, he decided to indulge in a little more computer time. Passing the bed, though, he noticed that Ginny had left another note on his pillow.
I can't wait for tonight! I went ahead and placed the order for what you told me to buy, and it arrived this morning. It was so sweet of you to let me charge it on your account. I promise it'll be Galleons well spent, if you know what I mean.
I love you,
What? He most certainly had not told her to buy anything, and especially not with his money! Confused, and more than a little upset, he sank down on the mattress, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Ginny wasn't one to misinterpret his words—in fact, she was quite the intuitive woman. So how had he gotten himself into this mess?
He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, something sticking out of Ginny's lingerie drawer. He walked towards the pink, furry-looking object, and pulled it out. Upon realizing what it was, he promptly dropped it, where it fell with a soft whumph.
Why on Earth had his wife purchased fur-lined handcuffs?
Perplexed and frightened now, he yanked the drawer open. Digging through socks and plain cotton knickers that screamed "IT'S WEDNESDAY, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!", he came across what she must have been talking about.
A leather dominatrix outfit. Complete with dangly metal chains and cutouts and openings that surely defied all laws of decency.
Heart pounding, Rob checked the label. "Madame Rouge's: Robes for Romance, and Much Much More!" He ran to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and coughed, "Madame Rouge's" into the flames, flying out of the fire and landing on his arse.
He looked around. The shop was dark, and mostly empty, save for a stunningly beautiful witch in low-cut, silky red dress robes, who spotted him immediately.
"Bonjour! Voudriez-vous mon assistance?"
"I'm Madame Rouge, and I own this store. You can call me Red, though. I said, would you like some help?" She smiled and offered him a hand, helping him to his feet.
"Uh, yes I would. The thing is, I think my wife ordered some...questionable merchandise, and placed it on my credit account? I was wondering if you had any records of transaction."
"Certainement. This way, please." She led him through several racks of clothing, which grew increasingly more suggestive as they passed. Was that even a robe? It looked more like a child's playsuit. Well, perhaps it wasn't meant for a child, but it would certainly fit one.
At last, they ducked through a section of the store separated by a velvet curtain. Here, Rob couldn't believe his eyes. From wall to wall, this part of the store was filled with items he couldn't even begin to describe. Underwear—did that even qualify as underwear; it was just a pair of strings!—and sexual apparatuses assaulted his eyes. Kinky costumes lined the perimeter. His pulse felt faint.
"And this—this is where my wife placed most of her orders?"
"Not most," she replied, and Rob felt relieved until she added, "All of them."
"This should tell you what she bought." Red pulled out her wand and swept it in an arc, and merchandise flew into Rob's arms from all directions. After the last of the items had landed from somewhere behind him, he staggered and fell over, where the neat little stack flew helter-skelter around him.
He inspected the items with some trepidation, gingerly picking up a riding crop, a pair of thigh-high boots, and a—well, he wasn't quite sure what that was, but he assumed it was meant to fit into places where nothing should go.
Dazedly, he stood up. "Thank you for your help, but it's getting late. I think I'm going to go to work now."
"Come back soon," Madame Rouge called after him.
Shuddering, he Flooed back to his house and headed for work, visions of long, pointy, lethal-looking instruments tormenting his thoughts all day.
As he stepped through his front door that evening, he briefly debated whether or not to head back to work and avoid whatever surprise he had apparently promised Ginny. Shaking his head, he decided against it—he'd spent far too much time at work already, and it was better to face the music. Besides, this would probably enjoyable if he wasn't so terrified of the novelty of it all. Bracing himself, he headed for the bedroom to change, but stopped in the hallway when he heard a strange noise. Was that a crack? It sounded like someone had just Apparated...but no, it was more like a snap. And then, something else...
"Oh yes! You like that, you filthy, naughty boy? You like me doing this?" Snap! "And this?" Smack! It was Ginny's voice.
"Yeah, right there...spank me harder!" An unfamiliar one, a deep male voice.
And just then, Rob's heart shattered into several pieces, the jagged edges splitting his insides apart. His beautiful, kind, funny, perfect wife had found someone else to shag. Someone better than him.
Was he a wizard? Maybe Ginny was getting tired of Muggle life. Or maybe he was better-looking, more fit, like those romance novel covers said you were supposed to look.
Rob crept down the hall, needing to see whom his wife had got off with, at least once before he left his home forever. For it wouldn't be a home, not after he had discovered that she didn't need him anymore.
The door was slightly ajar, and he peeked through the crack. What he found astounded him.
Ginny was dressed in the dominatrix getup he had discovered earlier, and oh God, those boots. She had the riding crop in one hand, and her back was to the door, giving him a perfect view of her legs. And yes, the man he had heard earlier was lying naked, facedown on the bed, with his hands bound by the handcuffs.
Rob coughed, and Ginny whirled around. Her face showed shock, then confusion, but where was the guilt that should have been present?
"Rob? But, but..."
"Say no more, Ginny. I know all about you, now."
"Huh? Look, this isn't what it looks like, I thought—"
"What? You thought what, that I wouldn't find out eventually? I've been busy all morning, piecing it together! It's not me that you want, and now I know! Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just get my things and go." He headed for the closet, but Ginny stopped him, sobbing frantically.
"No, wait! You don't understand! I thought—well, I thought it was you!"
Rob gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, right."
"No, it's true! Look," she said as she unsnapped the handcuffs. The man on the bed, who had been silent until now, rolled over, and Rob gasped.
It was him—at least, the man looked well enough liked him. The hair, the face, the body (he determinedly tried to ignore everything past the waist)...it was all him. Except...
"Hey, if you're me, why are you ripped like a male model?"
The strange man smirked and, with a perfect British accent, said, "Because I'm you, only better." He got up from the bed, his—oh no, his thing was fully visible in his state of undress—and stood, offering a hand to Rob. "I'm Fuzzy Dunlop. Pleased to meet you."
"WHAT? But...you're not even real! I made you up—hell, Red Dwarf made you up!"
"Yeah, funny story. You've treated me like an alter ego for months, now. And poof, now I exist!"
"So it's you...you've been the one making my wife breakfast, and telling her to purchase things on my credit, and—and—promising her wild, indecent sex!"
"Well, that sounds like the long and short of it. See, mate, you've been too wrapped up in work and corrupting teenage girls on the internet, and you haven't paid much attention to your lovely, gorgeous, amazing, sexy, talented—" here Rob clenched his fists and gave Fuzzy a threatening glare "—wife here. Which is why, I suppose, I began to exist."
For the second time that day, Rob sank down on the bed, carefully avoiding any spot that Fuzzy might have soiled. He ran through the recent months in his mind. Was this true?
"Is this true, Gin? Please tell me it's not."
She only folded her arms—wincing as the spikes protruding from her outfit's chest poked into her—and looked down.
"Listen, I'm so, so sorry—I promise I'll always treat you right, and take care of you forever. I love you so much—you're the only woman I've ever loved, and I couldn't bear it if you left me for him, even if he is me, but better. I'll never neglect you for anything else ever again. I'll even let you use some of the unspeakably horrible things you bought, and I'll get over the embarrassment. Just, please forgive me?"
Ginny smiled, tears flowing down her cheeks in full force now. "Of course! I love you too, Rob." She ran towards him and flung her arms around his neck, where Rob promptly yelped as the metal spikes made contact with his chest. She pulled away, and there were two neat holes in his best work shirt. Bugger it all, he thought. It was a small price to pay for the return of the love of his life.
"Well, looks like my job here is done," Fuzzy said from the doorway. "I'd best be going now."
Neither Rob nor Ginny turned towards the doorway as they said, simultaneously, "Goodbye!"
Nuzzling Ginny's neck, Rob mumbled, "So, looks like we can put the new merchandise to good use anyway, yeah?"
She laughed. "Sounds like a plan, love."
"Just...do me one quick favor?"
"Anything," she responded.
"Could we change the sheets first?"