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Tame the wind Blaise lay supplicant, his arms in right-angles from his body, his ankles daintily crossed as if folded petals. He didn't look as if he'd just jumped off his second edition CielBleu a hundred feet above the highest Quidditch post and was even now plummeting to a messy death on the ground below. It was all about appearance with Zabini, Draco thought, and smoothly performed a charm to slow the other boy's fall, giving time to fly beneath and catch him. "Wanker! What do you think you're doing?" His voice was loud in the pre-dawn air, before even the earliest of birds had awoken. Though Draco's tone was laced with poisonous anger, Blaise didn't react; his eyelids fluttered open at their own sweet pace, heavy-lidded over pale green orbs, and his lips curved in a slow smile. He looked positively post-coital - Draco expected to be asked for one of those foul Muggle cigarettes that Blaise insisted on smoking in the afterglow. "I wanted to fly." "That's why Merlin gave us brooms, you damnable twit! You know, the wood contraptions that dear Daddy buys you ever year in the vain hope you'll become a star Quidditch player?" The rejoinder was slightly muffled as Blaise twisted his position on the broom so he was sitting side-saddle, and his hair tickled Draco's face as the wind flirted with it. "I think you're confusing us again, Draco." Hot rage flushed high across Draco's cheeks. "You tosser!" Blaise's smile widened almost imperceptibly and he reached out to cup his hand around Draco's neck before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on the clenched jaw - the touch caused Malfoy to lose control and topple them both off his Nimbus. They were only a few feet above the ground at this point, however, so neither was hurt. (Draco's ego took a bit of a pasting, but that's hardly unusual.) Like cats they grappled in the sand, all kicking feet and greedy hands as they screwed their eyes up against the invading grains, reaching out to scratchbitetearpunch any flesh they found. Though they fought in earnest, both were grinning as they pulled apart and the choking cloud settled. Assessing his wounds, Draco found that his eye was throbbing from an enthusiastic elbow, and a pattern of bruises felt like a hand locked around his wrist. Then, when he darted his tongue out to probe the pain on his lip, he tasted the familiar copper of blood. Blaise was ruffled yet relatively unmarked with only a livid scratch-mark bisecting his jugular, and Draco imagine he could see it pulse with the flow of blood beneath it. Blaise leaned back on his hands, his legs splayed in a confident 'V', pale throat exposed to the sky. On his mouth played a smile that Draco was familiar with; the smile of silk sheets and feverish open-mouthed kisses, of teasing nips on the inside of his thighs and that snaking tongue on his neckchestcock. Yet it seemed there was something more than sex on those lips and he had no name for it. Someone with a larger vocabulary would have called it satisfaction. Falling through the air, zephyrs pulling at his flesh with sickled claws, Blaise had finally understood flying. What wizards did on their brooms wasn't flying! It was like Muggles and their aeroplanes, trying to believe they had tamed the wind and that a few broken legs or lives were mere statistics. Flying, Blaise thought, was about the fear that was not fear, about surrendering utterly to the elements: real flying was just like falling. He told Draco nothing of his new philosophy and instead pressed his mouth to the boy's lips, dragging his lower teeth across the shallow cut and kissing the thin trickle of blood into his mouth. The tangle of hot tongues writhed into breathless groans when Blaise somehow scrambled forward and slinked his body over Draco's, pushing them into the sand, supporting his own weight on arms knotted with veins, creepers under his skin. Draco impatiently clawed for a hold on the body above him, digging rounded fingertips in the soft flesh around shoulder-blades that protruded from the valley of Blaise's spine, and pulled. Their teeth clacked together as Blaise's elbows buckled and he pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. Draco licked his lips, more to straighten his thoughts than because they were dry. His voice was inflected with an indignant tone. "What?" He'd never heard Blaise laugh. That was the thought that made itself known in the scramble of Draco's brain as the other boy's mouth split open and this sound came forth from it, loud and alien and oh, so achingly musical. There was blood smeared on his lips, obscene and feminine, and his hair tangled around his face like Medusa, and Draco could almost pretend he hadn't seen a student running over the pitch towards them. Blaise didn't have to pretend, and he stopped laughing long enough to lick a trail from the corner of Draco's open mouth to the lobe of his ear, which he sucked thoughtfully before whispering- "Do you know how to fly?" -and fuck his hand was on Draco's cock through his robes in a vicious squeeze, too much and not enough, and then Blaise was rolling off and standing to face the Ravenclaw Seeker. He aimed an expression of lazy couldn't-care-less at her and rubbed his hand across his jaw, knuckling away wet crimson. "What happened?" She was a fifth year with dark eyes like bitter chocolate and pert breasts and Blaise idly wondered if she would be a good fuck. He shrugged, a ripple of expression beneath his slim Muggle jumper. "We had a fight. Malfoy lost, obviously." Obviously, to anyone who was Blaise. To the rest of Hogwarts Draco was an object of fear, stories of Dark Arts tuition and a tight band of runic tattoos around his forearm keeping even the most arrogant silent. The fifth year thrummed with excitement at her discovery; it coiled inside her chest like poison, waiting to spread to her House table at breakfast. "Thrice-damn you Zabini, you dirty little shit. Who taught you to fight?" Draco had got to his feet and was making a vain attempt to brush the worst of the sand from his robes. His eye was already beginning to swell, purple and livid against his snowy pallor, and as he lifted his sleeves to inspect the bruises on his wrist the Ravenclaw spotted a glimpse of dark black symbols high on his inner elbow. Blaise rolled his eyes at her as she gasped then flushed after realising what she'd done and in whose presence, and stepped closer to her side, saying, "You did, you inbred son of a bitch." His arm looped around her waist as if it was made to accommodate his touch, and she vibrated like a guitar string as his heat curled around her. Watching them walk away, Draco thought the tight track of dry saliva on his jaw might be in the shape of a lightning bolt back |