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Tame the wind "Blaise..." in the corridor between DADA - compulsory for sixth and seventh years - and the fork of Blaise's Arithmancy and Draco's Ancient Runes. Quiet, almost wistful, a soft exhalation of desire lost in the shuffle of student's feet and "Blaise," a sentence begun in the Great Hall over breakfast met with a huff of irritation and a turned back. Unbuttered toast caught in Draco's throat like sandpaper-covered humility and "Blaise?" in the Slytherin common room after an empty glass to his left, the question infused with doubt like strong dark tea. Not a word from Blaise, seated before the open fire with parchment stacked around his crossed legs like towers waiting to fall and "Blaise!" in a whipcrack of annoyance, startling and scattering first years like so much dust from the Quidditch stands.Hufflepuff had just nabbed a narrow victory from Ravenclaw with both Houses coming out to support their teams, and most of the Gryffindors along for the ride. Only a handful of lower years and Blaise had occupied the Slytherin stand, the latter sitting in a corner with his head hunched into the folds of a dark grey scarf. The february wind teased at his hair, long enough now to fingertip his collar, brushing like chestnut fronds across his thin face. Draco thought he should have looked up here first. He'd spent the past week looking for Blaise outside of classrooms and mealtimes; he'd searched every corner of the library before Madam Pince ejected him for 'disorderly conduct'; he'd loitered near the kitchen until a particularly sycophantic house-elf had begun staring at him with longing in it's bulbous eyes; he'd even spent a fruitless Tuesday evening searching for the Ravenclaw dormitories. Snape had found him prodding the portrait of a giggling milk-maid ('Belinda the Bountiful', according to the bronze plaque) near the Charms classroom, and ushered him to the dungeons with a vaguely amused smile. The stands were the last place on his list, proving how very little he knew about Zabini beyond his branding touch - and, oh, that was enough and too much at once. Blaise's eyes on him were needle-sharp, fury intensified through narrow focus, and rage turned his voice to syrup. "What is it, Malfoy? I'm really not in the mood to wade in the shallow end of the gene-pool with you." There was a perfect retaliation on Draco's tongue, really there was, but then Blaise stood up in such a way that he curved his back against the stand and slinked into an upright stance, utterly nonchalant as he echoed a position last seen with a backdrop of black silk. The slight curve of Blaise's lips /softandwetandwrappedaroundhiscockandohfuck/ was one of a man knowing exactly what he was doing. "Blaise-" "Oh come on! 'Blaise, Blaise', it's all you've said all bloody week! I know my name, I've been called it most of my life." Blaise had stepped forward as he spoke, advancing on Draco until they were nose to nose, the difference in their height stuttering in his favour. A week ago Draco had realised he'd never seen Blaise laugh, like all boys did at sometime or another, and now he was faced with the realisation the he'd never seen Blaise angry, either. Zabini seemed beyond such things, somehow, calmly-calmly like a meandering stream beneath which were currents strong enough to drown a man in tightly-coiling tides. His hot breath on Draco's face, near enough to taste the spice and smoke, was /ohgodohfuckdontstop/ the first tangle of a weed around his ankle. "I am not a dog, Draco, and I will not come to heel." He stepped back again and Draco watched his own hand reach out to tug at Blaise's arm but fall short and slide down the side of the boy's chest, coming to a stop at the waistband of his jeans. Mortified at the positively girlish gesture, Draco was nonetheless relieved when the other boy stopped moving and he hooked a finger beneath the denim to stroke heated skin. A reminder that, no matter how still the waters, there were rivers of blood flowing beneath. "Just. Just stop, alright? You've ran me round for months and when I ask you if you've shagged her - a perfectly innocuous question - you flounce out like some two-knut drag act in hand-me-down knickers. I'm fucking sick of it, of you." With a pointed look at the hand on his waist, even now slipping further down, Blaise grinned. There was anger behind it, a wolf struck and bleeding while its prey tremours with fatigue, but it was a welcoming expression all the same. "My, my, look at you. All grown up." He laughed, and the sound hurt. "As if you know what you want! I know what you want, my dear Malfoy, and what you want looks exactly like me. You see these hands?" He lifted his hands between them, inspecting them in the late-afternoon gold, before placing them on Draco's shoulders. Draco became very aware of his throat. "What- What about them?" An eyebrow arched and the blond absently watched his free hand reach forward and flip open the top button of Blaise's trousers, noting that a second eyebrow joined its mate. Blaise spoke again. "These hands have touched you in places you wouldn't tell your psychologist about - it's a Muggle thing, don't frown. These hands know every part of your body, and your body knows them right back; they are lovers. You wouldn't want to break up such a beautiful partnership, would you?" And fuck but Blaise sounded heartbroken at the notion, and then those damn hands slid down Draco's chest, thumbing his nipples through his too-thin t-shirt as they dropped to the waistband of his trousers. They stood, Slytherin to Slytherin in replica poses, a thought as frozen as the air, and then Blaise was on his knees and Draco had nowhere to put his hands anymore until he saw the head of chesnut before him. He wrapped his fingers in the snaking strands and Blaise smiled, unseen. The air was ridiculously cold on his cock but Blaise's mouth was so fucking hot that it barely registered and he had to cling desperately for fear of falling. And the waters /ohdearMerlin/ they ran deep and /imsorryimsorryfuckidontevenknowwhatforbutimsorry/ and then. Blaise stopped. Pulled his head back and regarded Draco's cock critically, as if assessing its veined merit, before - fuck him - smirking. "And you'd miss my mouth, wouldn't you Draco? My lips, my tongue, my absolute disregard for a gag reflex?" Draco nodded so hard he saw stars behind his clenched eyelids. "Say it." "You bastard." "Yes, I am rather." Blaise softly lipped the head of Draco's cock, suppressing a grin at the desperation of the resulting moan, and pulled away again. "Go on then, or it's another lonely term in Chez Malfoy." Hate ran close to lust, like a serpent coiled with its own tail in its mouth. Like the answer to a question he'd never even heard, Draco dug his fingers harder into Blaise's scalp. "I would miss you most terribly, my dear Blaise, like the flower misses the fucking sun. Now will you suck me off, you utter utter bastard?" Blaise obliged. back |