Maybe it was the fact that everyone was cloaked in black, masks of red and gold and white covering the hollowness of cheeks, the smoothness of foreheads, the ever-recognizable faces that were now indistinguishable from the rest. Maybe it was the effervescent shimmer that hung on the fringes of every object, every being in that large candle-lit room, the effects of one too many brandies. Maybe it was that fact that he was here when he knew he shouldn’t be, standing in the one place that could unravel the intricately woven web of lies he had produced, that made him feel so alive.
When he had first heard of the masked ball, he knew he had to go, as if something or someone seemed to be calling him. And as one who followed his heart instead of his mind, he went, ignoring the protests his head threw at him.
So now he stood in one corner of the room watching the masked and cloaked bodies on the dance floor, the couples disappearing into side rooms and down corridors, his heart pounding inexplicably in his chest.
He could feel a pair of eyes on him, studying him and he turned to the source. A tall, lithe man stood in the corner leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed in front his chest, wisps of silver-blond hair peeking out from behind his mask. Even across the room, he could see the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. The sight sent chills down his spine and he began to walk toward him, lips drawn in a tight line, the only part of his countenance that betrayed his nervousness.
He stopped only inches from the blond, silent, observing, waiting for a sign, for something. The blond watched him for a moment, his eyes raking in every inch of the brunette before turning and heading down a hallway to his right. Unsure, the brunette followed, drawn to the confident gait, the almost arrogant demeanor.
They walked past opulent sitting rooms, doors swung wide to show couples engaged in talk and more often than not, foreplay. He was slightly astounded. Did privacy mean nothing to them? Did they not care that everyone could see their naked flesh? He stopped walking. Was this what the blond had in mind? A sexual encounter for all to see?
Noticing the lack of footsteps behind him, the blond turned. He saw the apprehension on the brunette’s face as he watched the other couples. He grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. The man hesitated, unsure of whether he should follow or not. This time the blond stepped toward him, their chests barely brushing, entwining his fingers with his. For a moment neither of them moved, grey eyes boring into green. And then the brunette nodded, casting his assent, agreeing to whatever the blond could throw at him.
He walked to the last doorway at the end of the hall, led him inside and checked the hallway before shutting the door behind him. Instantly, lips were on his, his body slammed hard against the door, the brunette’s hands roaming his chest, his hips, his back. He had always been the one in control, but there was something exciting about being at the mercy of another man, not knowing what was to come next. He was led over to the bed and shoved down roughly upon it. He quirked an eyebrow at the other man as if to ask what that was all about, but the man just grinned, ripped off his shirt, then crawled on top of him.
He looked at the blond man beneath him, hair mussed, eyes alight with passion? Nervousness? Amusement? And smiled. He wanted to ravage him, take him as no one had before and the blond didn’t seem to mind.
They stripped each other down until there was nothing but two mounds of heated flesh melding into one, nothing but moans and screams and yells, arching backs, thrusting hips, the stench of sweat and sex and cum etched into the sheets, the floor, the very air of the room. Guttural yells and primal screams pierced the room a final time as they released every ounce of pent of anger and frustration in this one escape. And afterwards, they lay side by side waiting for hearts to stop pounding, breathing to return to normal, skin to cool.
When the brunette awoke hours later, it was to an empty bed. He stretched his aching muscles and grinned, satisfied. A glint of white on the armchair across the room caught his eye and he threw back the covers and crossed over to it. He picked up the mask and turned it over, slipping his own red one off and throwing it carelessly to the floor. The words on the back shone brightly in glowing green script.
Harry laughed. “You wish, Malfoy,” he spoke out loud to the empty room as he slipped on his pants and disapparated.