Entry tags:

2009, blaise/terry, fic

Gift for slumber: Forgetting Mandy Brocklehurst (Blaise Zabini/Terry Boot)
Title: Forgetting Mandy Brocklehurst
Author: sparkysparky
Recipient: slumber
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,400
Warnings: Lots of long, draw out, teasing sex. Little bit of plot. No resolved ending.
Summary: When Terry is left at the altar, he's pushed into going on his honeymoon alone. Except, Lisa has other ideas and is Unspeakable-y sneaky. And Blaise is a closet romantic. (Blaise/Terry; mentions of Terry/Mandy and Mandy/Stephen)
Disclaimers: These characters are not mine because they belong to JK Rowling. The situation is borrowed from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. And there was a lot of porn read in pursuit of inspiration.
Notes: MUCHAS GRACIAS to M. without whom this fic would never have gotten done. And to S. for general cheerleading. And to the fest mods for their patience as this fic grew and grew and spiralled out of control. slumber I really, really hope you enjoy this. In conclusion: PORN!


It had been three days since the wedding that wasn't, and Terry hadn't left his bed except to pee and restock his candy supplies. He'd drawn the covers over his head and was determined to stay there until he died. Or at least until the humiliation and heartbreak was a little less raw. At the moment he was pretty sure he knew which one would happen first, because every time he started to think that maybe he could handle getting up and showering, he'd remember the church full of his family and friends, and Mandy, in her stunning white wedding robes, announcing to everyone that she's sorry, but she can't do this because she's in love with the best man.

And yeah, he'd known--everyone had known--that Mandy and Stephen were close; they'd always been close even when they were bickering at each other, but he'd never expected that they were close in the naked, skin-on-skin sort of way. He'd been the only one though, because Michael and Anthony had said all the right things and Lisa and Padma had cried with him but he could tell from the looks in their eyes and their complete lack of shock that he'd been the last to know this particular Ravenclaw secret. Even his parents hadn't seemed surprised, and they hadn't been Ravenclaws in over twenty years.

What he just didn't understand--probably would never understand--was why they hadn't just told him. Told him before he went and fell in love with Mandy, and her sweet smelling hair and soft hands and stupid jokes only Stephen got. So yeah, maybe that should have clued him in before this clusterfuck of a wedding happened, but she'd been his best friend since he was eleven, so it was only natural he fell in love with her. And yeah, maybe there hadn't been all this passion between them that he'd heard about, but it had been comfortable, like slipping into an favorite old jumper. They never fought, not like Stephen and Mandy did all the time, and maybe that should have been his second clue.

He ignored the small, insidious voice that insisted he'd let himself fall in love with Mandy because it'd been easy and let him keep a part of himself secret and unfulfilled, because what the hell did his subconscious know anyway?

"Terry?"

It was Lisa's voice, he could tell from the epic amount of concern and the fact that no one else would dare break through his warding. Stupid, super secret Unspeakable skills, he sulked as he heard the door to his bedroom open.

"Fucking hell, Terry, it smells like a fucking Quidditch locker room in here. And not in the fun naked boys way," Lisa quipped, and Terry heard both the concern and disgust in her voice. It was well hidden under loads of sarcasm, but Terry had known Lisa long enough to read between the lines.

"Go 'way," he said, voice muffled by the comforter.

"Oh, like that's going to happen," Lisa snorted, and Terry heard a faint rustling letting him know she'd pulled open the curtains. "Come on, time to get up and shower. I can smell how rank you are from here." He could just picture her signature nose wrinkle, and it made him feel both fond and annoyed, which maybe meant he wasn't as far gone into misery and heartache as he thought he'd was.

"Jus' lemme die in peace," Terry whined, and curled up in a defensive ball as the comforter was suddenly gone. "My life is over."

"It is not; stop being such an emo kid." Terry wasn't sure what an emo kid was exactly, because Lisa was the one who watches too much Muggle television when she's at her father's house. "Come on, it's time to get up. You're leaving in an hour."

Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she expected Terry to just fall in line and do what she said. Sad fact is, he probably would. It was the story of his life -- being bossed around by tiny girls, and even though his heart was shattered and cracked and would never heal again, he found himself out of bed, naked and in the shower without even worrying over the naked part.

"Just so you know, I hate you," he grumbled as he scrubbed his hair clean. He felt better after the shower though, even though there was still an empty, gaping whole where his heart used to be. "My life is over, there's no reason for showering."

Her look was one of dejected pity, though he didn't know what she had to be dejected about. It was his heart that had been stomped on and torn out by two of his best friends. Former best friends, he reminded himself, and felt his heart break all over again.

Lisa sighed, and hugged Terry, unworried by his wet nudity, and Terry rested his head on her shoulder, feeling a few hot tears squeeze past his eyelids. They stood like that until Terry started shivering, and she pushed him toward the bedroom to get dressed. In the short time he'd been in the shower, she'd cleaned the place up, and a packed suitcase was lying on his bed.

"Lisa…" he trailed off, because he knew where this was going and he wasn't sure he liked it. He was already shaking his head, though he knew it was a futile effort.

"Terry," she mimicked his tone, and stood with her hands on her hips, brows raised. "Give me one good reason why not."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You only need one?" he asked, voice in a higher range than usual. "How about we start with the fact that it was supposed to be my honeymoon."

Lisa shrugged and rolled her eyes. "So what? It's still a paid vacation to Italy, and you've always wanted to go. So you should go. It will be good for you." She was speaking with absolutely surety, which was a skill of hers that Terry had always envied. He wished he could be half as self-assured as Lisa was, because if he were, then maybe he wouldn't be standing naked in his bedroom, heart broken into teeny tiny pieces.

Terry couldn't actually think of anything else to say. Even if he could, even if he brought up all the reasons why this was a monumentally stupid idea, Lisa would just bulldoze over his objections and send him on his way. And he really didn't have the energy to fight with her. So he just sighed wearily, let her dress him in summer clothes and press the Portkey into his hand.

"Have a good time, and don't think about anything back here. I'm sure by the time you get back, things won't seem quite so terrible," she said, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she hugged him. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was up to something. Then he remembered that this was Lisa, and she was always up to something and he'd be better off not thinking about it. Saner at least.

Then there was the familiar hooking sensation behind his navel, and he was being squeezed through something unpleasantly small. International Portkey was never fun, and he was feeling woozy and nauseated when he landed; all that kept him upright was a pair of large, brown hands.

He blinked, suitcase falling to the ground as he grasped his savior unsteadily. The features were familiar and he gasped as he recognized the smirk on those lovely, lovely lips. Not that he'd noticed another man's lips, except well, he was pretty sure no one had prettier lips than Blaise Zabini.

"Zabini?" He would hate himself later, for both the girlish squeal and the way his stomach did a series of flips, but right then he was too busy hating Lisa. Because he knew she' was behind this. She had obviously done some sort of super secret Unspeakable thing to his Portkey, and now he had landed on Zabini's doorstep and was going to be murdered or something, and maybe he just needed to stop reading Muggle mystery novels, because apparently they were making him paranoid.

"Boot," Zabini said, his voice as deep and smooth as his chocolaty skin. "I take it from your apparent shock and awe that Turpin didn't explain."

Terry could only shake his head as he looked up--and up and up. Zabini had gotten tall he thought, absently licking his lips--and wondered at the strange expression on Zabini's face.

"Always said Ravenclaws were the weirdest bunch," Zabini muttered, but he was grinning, sort of, and clapped a large hand down on Terry's shoulder. "Come on Boot, I'll show you where you're staying."

******

It turned out that Lisa had doctored his Portkey, deciding for herself that the honeymoon resort he and Mandy had picked out wouldn't be suitable after all. And since she was good friends with Zabini--well, as good of friends as two Unspeakables could be--had asked if he'd mind a houseguest during his month-long vacation at his family estate in Tuscany. He'd found all this out from Zabini's House Elf, who had popped in and taken over the unpacking for him. He wondered if this was going to be some sort of theme in his life, or if he'd ever get control back. Somehow, he thought that was very unlikely.

Terry still wasn't sure why Zabini had said yes, but he was too tired and heartsick to even think about it. He'd rather lie on the bed and stare out at the ocean he could see from the window. It was warm in the room, so the window was open and the fresh air felt nice, he thought. Better than the drafty room in his attic flat at any rate. And it had the added bonus of sheets that didn't smell like Mandy's shampoo.

He didn't go downstairs for dinner, but the House Elf popped back with a tray of something that looked and smelled delicious, but tasted like sandpaper. He was pretty sure it was by no fault of the Elves, because he hadn't even been able to taste the chocolate he'd been eating for the past three days. He ate anyway, if only only because the Elf refused to leave until the plate was clean.

It figured it would be a female elf. The fact that he couldn't escape them even on his so-called honeymoon was yet more evidence that his life was destined to be run by pushy, overbearing women.

******

The next three days were spent in this manner. He didn't leave his room, and the House Elf bullied him into eating and showering. He didn't hear or see Zabini, but it was an undeniable fact that the man was around somewhere, making Terry uncomfortable just by his mere existence -- much as he had done at Hogwarts, but Terry wasn't going to think about that now either.

So, instead of thinking about Mandy and Stephen, or even worse about Zabini, Terry asked the House Elf for books. He wasn't specific about the sorts of books he wanted, and ended up with stacks of Muggle classics, Charms theory, and big thick volumes on Ancient Runes. He didn't mind, because his reading taste had always been eclectic, and the balcony to his room was a pleasant reading spot.

He was halfway through Frankenstein, which he was reading with a sort of fascinated horror, when Zabini finally made his presence unavoidable to ignore.

"Master Blaise requests your company at dinner tonight, yes he does, and Mattie is to see that Master Terry is dressed and in the dining room by seven o'clock," Mattie chattered as she bustled around the room, tossing aside articles of clothing while making a tsking noise under her breath.

And that was how Terry found himself dressed up in clothes he was pretty certain hadn't come from his closet, because he knew he didn't have jeans that were this tight, and he very definitely didn't own anything made from some sort of stretchy material that molded to his figure the way this shirt did. Lisa again, he thought, and tried to pull the shirt down enough to tuck into the jeans, but it wasn't working. As it stood, he had to move carefully and avoid raising his arms above his head if he didn't want to show off a vast expanse of his stomach and lower back.

Terry had never though himself a prude, but the thought of wearing such revealing clothing in Zabini's presence made him both uncomfortable and excited. It wasn't a comfortable set of feelings at any rate, and the combination left him jittery with nerves as he was escorted to the drawing room to wait for Zabini.

He'd been waiting for Zabini to come down and join him for dinner for the past quarter hour, and was growing grumpier by the minute. It was just like a Slytherin to make an entrance, Terry thought, crossing his arms over his chest

"Been waiting long?"

Terry whirled around, heart beating frantically and was about to shout at Zabini for scaring him when he promptly forgot how to talk. Because Zabini was wearing leather trousers which should have been illegal they were so tight. "How do you walk in those?" Terry blurted out, blushing almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Zabini only smirked, and glided across the carpet to the wet bar where he poured two tumblers of some amber liquid. He handed one to Terry and sipped at the second himself. Terry drank his all at once, needing something to quench the sudden dryness of his throat, and when had that happened anyway, he wondered. Probably about the same time Blaise Zabini skulked into the room wearing leather trousers.

"Might want to think about slowing down with that," Zabini said, that infuriating smirk still on his face. It made Terry want to wipe it away, but he wasn't sure how, and that was even more infuriating.

It reminded him of those long hours he'd spent in the library at Hogwarts, and how he'd tried to study but couldn't because Zabini wouldn't stop smirking at him. That smirk had made his stomach twist in knots and his palms sweat, and filled his dreams with confusing images, and it still had that effect, even so many years later. Mandy had never made him feel so twisted and confused, and it made him tremble to wonder why.

Zabini didn't offer Terry another drink, and Terry didn't know whether to be thankful or resentful. There wasn't a lot of time to think about it, because before Terry could even ask about dinner Zabini had grabbed him, still with a smirk on his face, and without even a warning Apparated them both.

If he'd been given the chance Terry could have told Zabini that he didn't Apparate well. As it was, he was pretty sure Zabini got that message from the way Terry clung to him to keep from falling over.

"You all right, Boot?" Zabini asked, not bothering to hide the amused expression on his face.

Terry glared at him, though he was sure the expression lost most of it's effectiveness due to the green-tinge of his skin, but he kept from vomiting, if only just barely. "Some warning next time wouldn't be a terrible thing," he said, and tried not to pout too much. He was certain he didn't succeed, because Zabini only smirked more at him.

Terry made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat and pulled away from Zabini, trying to disguise the fact that he was still pretty dizzy. He must have failed spectacularly though, because Zabini placed a hand on the small of his back, and guided him inside. Terry thought about pulling away, but the warmth of Zabini's palm and the press of his solid body against his side was very distracting.

Dinner went remarkably well, all things considered. He almost wished he had vomited though, because he'd have loved to see the look on Zabini's face if he'd vomited all over the man's leather trousers. And Terry still didn't know how Zabini actually sat in them, it seemed an almost impossible feat. Also, he thought that the three glasses of wine he found himself drinking hadn't hurt either, and by the time Zabini had mysteriously taken care of the bill--after having waved away Terry's offer of paying his half--Terry was feeling pleasantly light headed.

The wine might also be at fault for the way Terry just let Zabini manhandle him out of the restaurant and into a taxi without it even crossing his mind to ask where they were going. Instead, he just leaned slightly against Zabini and tried not to notice how good the other wizard smelled. He couldn't help but nuzzle Zabini's neck just a little though, but he'd deny it later if anyone should ask.

It turned out that Zabini had worn the leather pants for a reason, and that reason became clear as the taller man led Terry inside a dark, crowded, noisy dance club. A gay, dark, crowded, noisy dance club.

He wasn't quite sure what to think about that, but as had happened a lot since Zabini had just…taken over his life, he wasn't given time to think about it as Zabini crowded against his back and all but pushed him onto the dance floor. One large arm was wrapped possessively around Terry's waist, palm splayed low on his belly. Zabini made him feel small, almost delicate, and Terry wasn't sure what he thought about that.

"Stop thinking," Zabini breathed against his ear, pulling Terry tighter against him. "Dance with me, Boot. You know you want to."

And the thing was, Terry really did want to. If he was honest with himself he'd wanted to do more than dance with Zabini since sixth year, and Zabini had cornered him in the library and snogged him senseless. But he'd been scared back then, and then seventh year had happened, and Blaise hadn't returned to Hogwarts, his status as a halfblood Slytherin allegedly had kept him away; and Terry had let himself fall in love with Mandy—and it had been love, at least on his part—so he'd let himself forget the feelings that one illicit snog had raised. But he couldn't ignore them now, not when Zabini was pressed against his back, breath hot against his neck.

"I've thought about this for years, Boot," Zabini's voice was smooth as silk, even over the music, "ever since I had you up against the bookshelves, my tongue in your mouth. You'd have let me take you right there, I think, if your little Ravenclaw friends hadn't come looking for you." As he spoke he slid his fingers beneath the waistband of Terry's denims, and Terry whined in the back of his throat, heart beating in time to the thumping bass of the band.

"Murfurgle," Terry whimpered, not sure if he was agreeing or protesting. What he did know was that there was something hard pressed against interesting places and he couldn't help but move against it. He closed his eyes and leaned back against Zabini as he felt the other man chuckle against the back of his neck.

Long suppressed desire was bubbling up inside him; no longer lingering deep in his subconscious as it had done since he was sixteen. Ten years was a long time to deny a fundamental part of one's self, Terry realized with a jolt. It was time to stop denying what he really wanted; time to face up to the real reason Mandy had left him.

He turned in Zabini's arms and leaned up, finally looking into deep, dark eyes, filled with lust and, maybe, a little bit of love. His heart stuttering in his chest in time to the Muggle rock music blaring in the club, Terry raised trembling hands to Zabini's face, thumbs stroking along perfect cheekbones.

Many times in his life, Terry had realized he was about to do something monumentally stupid on impulse but had barreled on ahead anyway, with results that ranged from painful to heartbreaking. Letting Zabini kiss him in the library; standing up in the Great Hall and shouting out news about Harry Potter knowing what the Carrows would do to him; making the choice to stay behind when certain death was the only outcome; asking Mandy to marry him even though he'd known he didn't love her the way Stephen did. He was certain that what he was about to do was monumentally stupid, but the impulse had grabbed hold, and Terry had never been very good at ignoring his impulses.

Swallowing past a nervous lump in his throat, he leaned up on his toes and pressed suddenly dry lips against Zabini's. It was a clumsy kiss; Terry was used to kissing someone far shorter than he was, so he didn't know quite how to tilt his head or where to put his hands, and he was really pretty drunk--not drunk enough to have lost control of his body, but enough that he wasn't thinking so hard for once--so he wobbled a bit where he stood.

Zabini--Blaise he corrected himself. He was going to be Blaise if they were doing the kissing thing again--didn't let him fumble for long, however, and quickly took over the kiss. The hand that hadn't left the small of his back since they'd come into the club pulled him closer and Blaise used his free hand to cup the back of Terry's head, tugging none too gently at his hair. Blaise's tongue swept over his lips, and Terry opened his mouth on a gasp.

Blaise took advantage of that, and thrust his tongue inside, seeming to have a need to map out Terry's mouth. He was demanding, and Terry had no choice but to give as good as he got. He dipped his tongue into Blaise's mouth, teasing, learning the taste and feel of another man's mouth. It was so different from kissing Mandy, and his memories of that one kiss in sixth year didn't even compare.

His knees weakened, and he sagged a bit, but there was no where to go. Blaise held him tight, the undeniable evidence of his interested pressed against Terry's stomach. His body warmed, veins filling with a liquid heat that pooled at the base of his spine and built up rapid, until his cock was painfully hard and pressing insistently against the zipper of his jeans.

He was growing dizzy from lack of air, but he couldn't bring himself to tear their mouths apart. Somehow his hands had fisted in the material of Blaise's shirt, and he'd spread his legs apart slightly, allowing Blaise's hips to rest against him. It had the added bonus of pressing their covered erections together, and Terry moved languidly against the solid body, striving for release. He rubbed his tongue along Blaise's, asking without words for more.

Blaise pulled away suddenly, and Terry whimpered, clutching at broad shoulders and trying to drag the other man back into the kiss. Blaise resisted though, putting enough space between them for another person. Terry opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, and pouted up at Blaise.

"It's time to get you home," Blaise growled.

Terry didn't really register his words because his attention was pulled to the plump, almost bruised look of Blaise's lips. He wanted those lips on his again, and in other places, and he pulled Blaise back to him. Blaise must not have been expecting it, because he stumbled and the action knocked Terry back against the bar. He didn't notice the jarring pain in his back, too intent on dragging Blaise's head down for another kiss.

This time the kiss was smoother; Terry knew which way to tilt his head, exactly where to put his hands. He wrapped himself around Blaise, forgetting about everything else; the club, his failed wedding, the fact that he'd wanted this for years. Blaise seemed to have forgotten his momentary effort at being a gentleman, if the way his hands grasped Terry's arse possessively was anything to go by.

"Fucking hell, get a room already; you're blocking the bar."

Terry tore his mouth away from Blaise's on a gasp, blushing bright red when he saw that most of the club's patrons were staring at them, most with arousal clear on their faces. He hid his hot face in Blaise's neck, the past half hour suddenly coming back to him clearly. "Oh Merlin," he muttered, embarrassed beyond belief at the way he'd all but climbed on Blaise.

Blaise laughed, the sound low and amused and it slid over Terry like another kiss. "Let's dance, Boot," he said, hands moving from Terry's arse to his hips.

"Terry. Your tongue has been in my mouth, I think we've skipped past the last names formality," Terry said, still blushing as he leaned back to look up at Blaise.

"All right, Terry. Dance with me." It wasn't exactly a request, but even if it had been, Terry wouldn't have denied Blaise anything at this point. He followed Blaise to the dance floor and let himself be pulled close again.

Dancing, he discovered, was just as good as sex. At least, it was better than any sex he'd ever had with Mandy had been, and he wondered just how long he'd been lying to himself. But every time he tried to think about it, Blaise pulled him closer and kissed him, quick, brief kisses that were just a prelude to what Terry was absolutely sure was going to happen when they got back to the villa.

******

But there was no sex that night, much to Terry's disappointment the next morning when he woke up alone. He wasn't quite sure what had happened after the dancing, but he did remember Blaise all but carrying him home and pouring him into bed. The other man had resisted Terry's eager hands, and kissed his forehead before spelling out the lights and leaving Terry to his feverish dreams.

Nor was there any sex in the following week. There was kissing; lots and lots of kissing; on the beach, in the pool, even, on memorable time, against the wall of a cave they were exploring for Runes. It was enough kissing to leave Terry panting and desperate for more every time. But no matter how he asked, even begged on more than one occasion, Blaise only smirked and told Terry that patience was a virtue. Terry wasn't completely fooled by Blaise's cool demeanor, because Blaise was always just as breathless and flushed as Terry after their snogging sessions.

They'd talked almost as much as they'd kissed that week, and Terry realized that Blaise had been courting him since the nightclub, which was so charming and unexpected that he couldn't really mind, even as much as he wanted to get shagged. It also hinted that Blaise was had more invested in this…relationship, than a quick holiday romance. Terry wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he wasn't as reticent as he probably should have been, coming off a failed engagement the way he was. But there was just something about Blaise that blew past all of his defenses, and he couldn't bring himself to mind. If he was completely honest with himself, he was enjoying the slow courtship period, and…he wanted to find out just where they could go once back in England.

Tonight though, he was ready to take things to the next level. He was tired of being patient, and he thought that Blaise might be as well. The last few times they'd kissed, Blaise had disappeared for an hour and come back damp and freshly showered. It made Terry feel powerful to know he affected Blaise just as much as Blaise affected him. He was gratified to know he wasn't the only one taking several cold showers a day.

Finally, after five days had passed with nothing but kissing and teasing, Terry had had enough. He was going to get laid if it killed him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate for sex; with Mandy sex had been pleasant but he'd never minded when they'd gone weeks without making love; with Blaise he wasn't sure he could last another minute without getting Blaise naked and in his bed.

He had a plan, even, a step-by-step approach to seducing Blaise. He'd spent hours working out exactly how it would work (cornering Blaise in the library had been crossed out and replaced by swimming naked in the pool and letting the nakedness speak for itself) but he'd forgotten one major detail.

Blaise was a Slytherin. And Slytherins were sneaky and could seduce you without you even knowing you were being seduced.

And Blaise was good at it, the seducing thing, Terry realized as he was pressed down into mattress. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in Blaise's bed, other than the swimming naked in the pool idea had been brilliant and inspired. But it was hard to determine the details with the way Blaise had spread himself over him, blanketing Terry's body with his own. It was an entirely new sensation to be the smaller partner during sex, and Terry realized it was as if something fundamental had been missing all these years. Something had clicked inside him, as if saying yes, this is how sex should be.

Blaise was draped over him now, a feverish counterpart to the still chilled skin from the pool. "You're a fucking tease," Blaise growled, and then he was nudging Terry's head to the side and biting down possessively on the sensitive skin at the point where Terry's neck met his shoulder.

Terry squirmed as Blaise sucked on that patch of skin, mouth deliberately rough, marking him as belonging to Blaise and Terry couldn't find it in himself to mind. Blaise's thumb rubbed at the nape of Terry's neck, his other hand braced on the mattress, his cock already half-hard against Terry's hip, and all Terry knew was that it was getting harder and harder to fill his lungs. He panted into the pillow until the pressure of Blaise's mouth left that murky, grey realm of pleasurable aches behind and crossed into actively painful. Then, wincing, he tried to pull Blaise's mouth away.

Blaise allowed himself to be pulled away but didn't leave that spot, licking and nuzzling what was, undoubtedly, going to be a deep, purpley bruise until Terry was nothing more than a trembling mess beneath him.

"Mine," Blaise breathed, and Terry's breath hitched. Everything was suddenly so much more than a game, and he arched his hips up against Blaise, his desire unmistakable.

Blaise pushed forward forcing their cocks to slide together, and Terry let out a low, long groan and arched his neck in silent supplication. Blaise's low chuckle slid underneath his skin and lodged there, but there was enough amusement that it roused some part of Terry's higher thought processes enough to form a sentence.

"You're very possessive," he managed to say, though his voice trailed off at the end because Blaise's fingers were wrapping around his cock and stroking firmly. Terry mewled and dug fingernails into Blaise's back, arching up against the larger man.


"Mmm," Blaise agreed, and moved to kneel between Terry's splayed thighs. He trailed large hands up Terry's chest and over his shoulders before finally pinning Terry's arms above his head. "You going to let me? You going to let me mark you up the same way you're going to let me fuck you?"

Blaise wasn't holding him down anymore--the hand that had been restraining him was now sliding around his hipbone to settle in the crease of his arse--but Terry stayed where he was anyway. His nerves were buzzing with the effort of staying still, with not panicking and calling off this whole evening and running back to England like he'd run back to the Ravenclaw common room all those years ago; but there was a deep, hidden part of him that has gone lazy and content. Merlin, he realized, he actually wanted to submit—wanted to let Blaise control this thing between them.

It was definitely all Blaise's fault, he decided, as his hands fisted in the sheets and Blaise lifted his hips up, crawling closer until Terry's hips were raised off the bed, exposing his most private part. Blaise with the leather pants, and brilliant mind, and all the fucking looming at the club and so indulgent during the past week, and being so big, and strong, and his hands were practically the same size as Terry's head and that shouldn't make him so aroused. Blaise was obviously being a total Slytherin in this whole seduction thing, and therefore Terry wasn't responsible for any reaction he might have been having right now.

Blaise bit down on the mark he'd made earlier, getting a strip of Terry's skin in his mouth, and then swiped his tongue across it without letting go. Terry had absolutely no control over the choked, almost desperate sound he made in response. He felt Blaise smile against his throat and then Blaise released him.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"Please," he groaned, and immediately flushed at the way Blaise's eyes went even darker.

"Please what?" Blaise asked, but Terry can tell he already knew what Terry wanted. He just wanted to make Terry say it, the bastard.

And Terry must have left his pride somewhere in the days between the nightclub and the pool, because he just closed his eyes and whimpered out a strangled, "Please fuck me."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "But you need to open your eyes. I want to see you., want to watch you come apart for me."

"Merlin," Terry mewled, low and rough. He hadn't realized his eyes had shut sometime during this overwhlelming experience, and he wasn't sure he could force them open; wasn't sure he wanted to let Blaise see the desperate condition he was in.


"Come on," Blaise urged, brushing one hand across Terry's cheekbone.

"I can't," Terry whispered, turning his head to one side. "Blaise, I'm gonna—" Come, he was going to say, but suddenly he was choking on the word because Blaise's hand had wandered down to grip his cock.

"You can," Blaise insisted. Still stroking Terry's cheek, he started to stroke Terry's cock. "Look at me, Terry. Look at how much I want you; fuck you're gorgeous like this. All spread out and mine for the taking. Wish you could see how pretty you are; been driving me crazy since you got here."

Terry was trembling with helpless little jerks, the last of his rational thoughts sliding irrevocably away as Blaise kept sliding his huge palm over Terry's leaking cock. He kept whispering in Terry's ear, telling him to open his eyes, to look, and God, Terry couldn't resist anymore.

He forced his eyes open and is immediately confronted with the depth of hunger on Blaise's face, and felt the raw need in his own blood bubble up and over and he came with a shout over Blaise's hand Blaise stroked him through it, leaning down to claim Terry's mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, trailing kisses along Terry's jaw to his ear to murmur softly in Terry's ear. Terry was whimpering, clutching at Blaise's shoulders as wave after wave of repressed pleasure courses through him, and he thought he might even be crying a little.


"Shh, so beautiful. You're okay, I've got you. Just breathe."

Spent, Terry slumped back against the pillow, pulling Blaise down against him and was amazed at the sheer amount of semen that was smeared between their stomachs. He'd never come that hard in his entire life. Blaise was still cradling his cock, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the slowly softening length of him.

"Tried to warn you," Terry panted when he could make his voice work again.

"S'okay It'll make this easier."

Terry was going to ask what was going to be made easier, but he got all the answer he needed when Blaise conjured something shiny and slick in his palm. Heart racing double speed, he bit his lip as he felt Blaise's fingers circling his hole questioningly. He tried to speak, tried to ask Blaise for more, but only managed a desperate, whining noise high in his throat, and cocked his hips up, exposing even more of himself.

But it seemed Blaise had different ideas, and urged Terry to roll over onto his stomach. Blaise trailed his hands down Terry's back they're resting just under Terry's arse. Terry let the suggestion in Blaise's probing fingers nudge his legs further apart and then mumbled in appreciation as Blaise stroked the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

"So good for me," Blaise murmured.

Terry's chest tightened a little at the praise. "Feels good," he slurred, trying to get his legs wide enough that Blaise can reach everywhere. "Don' stop."

"Wasn't planning on it," Blaise said.

The amusement in Blaise's voice sent off warning alarms all over the place and Terry rolled his head to the side enough to see the way Blaise was watching him, lips slightly parted and color high in his cheeks. When he saw that Terry was looking back at him, he smirked and thrust the tip of one slick finger into Terry's hole. Terry's back arched at the intrusion, but he pressed his arse back towards Blaise, wanting more of Blaise's fingers inside him.

"You're going to feel me for days when we're done, Terry," Blaise announced, nosing at Terry's hair. "Going to fuck you hard and deep enough that you'll spend tomorrow in bed." He licked along the edge of Terry's ear and then that rough, deep voice breathes, "Don't think I'll be able to keep my hands to myself."

Terry's entire body pulsed with warmth, his cock throbbed with growing interest, and he moaned. Blaise's words have gone directly to his cock; he hadn't known before now how much he liked dirty talk. He and Mandy had never done anything like that, and maybe no wasn't the best time to be thinking of her. He purposefully opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder, finding and holding Blaise's gaze. He wanted no illusions as to who was doing this to him; wanted nothing of the past to come between them now.

Terry whimpered and his mouth dropped open in a pant, leaning up on his knees so he can lean against Blaise's chest. With his head turned to the side he found Blaise's mouth and kissed him clumsily, unable to find the proper position from this angle. The kiss turned sloppy; all open mouths and tongues battling for purchase. Finally Terry broke away and slumped back on the mattress, back arched and arse pressing back insistently against Blaise's hand.


"Please, fuck me," he whimpered. The words scraped against his dry throat, but despite his apprehension he has never wanted anything as desperately as he wanted this. Then the tip of Blaise's finger sunk into him—Oh, Merlin—and his lips parted in a moan.

Blaise's left hand came down on Terry's hip to hold him steady while his finger pushed forward. It didn't burn as badly as he had thought it might—thank Rowena for whoever invented lubrication charms—but it was still an alien, invasive feeling, and Terry couldn't help tensing up.

"Shh," Blaise soothed him, rubbing Terry's lower back calmingly. "I've got you."

Terry opened his mouth to tell Blaise that he was fine, but the words get trapped in his throat when Blaise hit that shocking, intense place inside him. An incoherent, pleased noise broke from his lips instead and he spread his legs wider. He canted his hips up and back as Blaise's finger slid in and out of him, unerringly hitting just the right spot to light his nerves up with trembling fire.

"That's it," Blaise murmured, encouraging, and a traced a second finger around Terry's entrance.

Blaise waited until Terry was rocking back against him greedily, and then pushed the second finger forward. Terry's hips jerked, startled, as both fingers slid past the outer ring of muscle, and then he made himself hold still through the spreading burn. He was sweating steadily now—part nerves, part want—and his hands keep clenching and unclenching against the sheets as he tries to hold himself up.


Blaise's fingers bottomed out and he paused, giving Terry a moment to get used to the thicker, stuffed feeling. Then, just when Terry was starting to think that Blaise would never get on with it, Blaise started opening him up for real: twisting his fingers and then scissoring them a bit, and generally spreading a deep, throbbing ache through Terry's insides.

His hips were moving without his permission, though: rolling in tight circles in an attempt to send off more of those brilliant sparks. Blaise loosened his hold on Terry's hip and Terry took the opportunity to rock back and forth. Blaise stopped moving his fingers and let Terry do the work, fingers sliding wetly out and in as Terry moved forward and then back again. That glide—the feeling of being penetrated—was almost as arousing as those bursts of pleasure and Terry dropped his head forward, making a small, helpless noise.

Blaise's hand pulled back, fingers sliding almost completely free, and when Terry tried to follow Blaise held him still. "You okay?"

It took Terry a few seconds to blink through the emptiness in his ass to understand what Blaise is asking. When he figures it out, his first, instinctive answer is 'no', but that wouldn't be right. He'd never done this before, never even thought about it in more than a vague subconscious way when he'd been masturbating. But here he was, being spread open for it and so desperate to be taken that he's fucking down on Blaise's fingers without any urging, and his spent cock was getting hard again.

"More," he breathed out, reaching behind him and grabbing Blaise's wrist, forcing himself back on Blaise's fingers again. He mewled low in his throat at the feeling of being breached, never having felt so complete in his life. "I need you to fuck me now."

"Fuck," Blaise muttered in a shaky voice, and then, more strongly, "Yeah, okay. Hold on."

When Blaise took even the tips of his fingers away, Terry made a whimpering sound, too strung out be even close to embarrassed about it. He wanted to move, wanted to follow those delicious fingers and beg for more, but he chose to stay where he was, legs wide and ass up and waiting for Blaise to get back to fucking him open.

Terry gasped, shuddering at both at the abrupt, renewed ache and the cold: it almost felt like Blaise had just shoved an ice cube up his ass. Blaise didn't give him time to adjust either: just started working all three fingers around with that same, steady twisting, scissoring motion he used when there were only two. The lube warmed quickly, but this time the ache lingered.

It wasn't so painful that it dampened his arousal, and he remembered how good it felt when he got past that feeling last time, but Terry can't help thinking that Blaise's cock was a hell of a lot bigger than a couple of fingers. It was longer, too, which was also going to pose a problem.

His stomach started to tilt to one side anxiously and then Blaise reached underneath Terry and gripped his half-hard cock.

"Fuck!" Terry blurted, biting his lower lip and digging his fingers into the mattress. Under other circumstances he would have blushed at the fact that he'd cursed, but he was so aroused he didn't even notice. His cock filled so quickly it hurt, and he moaned helplessly when Blaise's hand slid over it, down to his balls, and then back up again.

"Come on," Blaise said. "Come on, baby, you're doing great."

Terry had never been called baby by anyone, and he was shocked at how much he liked it. His cock jumped against his stomach, and he thrust forward into Blaise's hand, whimpering as the action caused Blaise's fingers to slip out of him. He couldn't decide where to go, every time he pushed himself backwards he'd lose the delicious pressure on his cock, but moving forward left him feeling empty.

"Please Blaise, fuck me," he begged mindlessly. "I want you inside me, please; don't want to wait any longer. Wanted this forever, didn't know it; please, please fuck me." He couldn't stop the babbling, though most of his words were so slurred he wasn't sure that Blaise would know what he was saying.

"You're talking too much," Blaise said, though he sounded more amused than angry. "I must not be doing this right."

Terry was of the opinion that Blaise was doing just fine, even though he had no frame of reference, and he was going to say as much but suddenly all three of Blaise's fingers are pressing against that blinding spot inside of him, stroking and massaging and—holyfuckingMerlin—Blaise was holding out on him. He choked on his own spit and keened low in his throat.

Blaise was panting and worshipful in his ear, murmuring praise that made Terry's heart stutter in his chest—beautiful, so beautiful, yeah, baby, just like that. Each tiny kiss that peppered his cheek and neck was shattering, making his chest ache almost as much as his cock and ass. Terry turned his head to one side, the scent of Blaise hitting him low and hard.

Terry moaned and twists his head around further, panting heavily as Blaise's fingers mercilessly moved in and out of him. He felt the pleasure build deep in his belly, and he squeezed his inner muscles around Blaise's fingers, knowing that he was close. He's going to come and it's going to be both brilliant beyond belief and devastating.


Blaise stopped moving his fingers inside Terry and growled, "Don't you fucking come yet, Terry. Not until I say you can."

Like that was going to make a difference, Terry thought, and moved himself harder against Blaise's fingers, trying to get them deeper inside. If Blaise was serious, he'd stop fucking Terry open with his fingers; he'd stop stroking Terry's cock and sliding his chest along Terry's back.

But the demand in Blaise's voice was impossible to ignore, and even though it almost kills him, he dragged himself back from the precipice and slumped down into the pillows, thighs trembling from the tension along his spine. He sobbed with frustration, but kept himself from coming, and Blaise rewarded him by touching that spot again, igniting fireworks of pleasure in Terry's whole body.

"Please," he begged. His voice was so cracked and ruined that he didn't recognize it at first, but the relentless movement of Blaise's fingers inside of him slowed, so Terry licked his lips and tried again.

"Please fuck me—Blaise please—please, I need—oh fuck, please, Blaise—"

Blaise yanked his fingers free with an abruptness that made Terry sob. Fuck, he'd thought he felt empty before, but that had been nothing compared to now. He felt hollowed out: bereft. He ached inside with loss of his Blaise's fingers, and panic seeped in through the edges of his arousal.

Merlin, he needed this. Couldn't Blaise see how much he needed this? Damn it all to fucking hell, if Blaise teased him any more, then Terry was going to break down crying right here: naked and panting into the feather pillows of Blaise's bed. Merlin,


And before he could beg again, demand that Blaise fuck him already, something huge and blunt and slick nudged against his opening.

Terry sobbed again, this time in relief, and Blaise rubbed his side and made a shushing sound. "S'okay, baby. I'm right here. Going to take care of you."

Terry fumbled back with one hand and gets a hold of Blaise's hip, adjusting his weight to one hand to keep his balance. "Please," he whispered over and over again. "Please please please."

Keeping his lower body still, Blaise bent over Terry's shoulder and takes Terry's words into his own mouth. He kissed Terry slow and thoroughly, one hand wrapped around Terry's hip and the stroking his ass restlessly. The frantic pounding through Terry's body eased gradually, relaxing to match Blaise's mouth on his, the slick slide of their tongues together.

When Blaise finally broke the kiss, Terry was still trembling but he felt secure in his own skin again. Blaise's hand cupped the side of his face, gentle, and Terry leaned into the touch.

"So beautiful. So perfect."

"Blaise," Terry managed, the words shattering him. No one had ever treated him so gently; he'd always been expected to take care of Mandy during their lovemaking; having Blaise taking care of him so carefully almost destroyed him.

"I've got you, Terry. Just trust me."

Trust Blaise. As if it was possible now for Terry to do anything else. Somehow in the past two weeks Blaise has wormed his way into Terry's life, his soul, and he couldn't imagine his life without him, and it terrified him. He nodded anyway, because he couldn't stop now or he'd die, and Blaise rewarded him with a brief, almost chaste kiss. As Blaise straightened again, his cock pushed forward, slick-slid over Terry's entrance, and Terry let his head fall forward, resting against the pillow. The position left him with his shoulders pressed against the bed, hips high in the air, legs spread so wide his joints were going to hurt in the morning he was sure. But he didn't care about the picture he was presenting, because Blaise was pressing forward.

"Are you read?" Blaise asked, freezing with just the tip of his cock inside Terry.

"Oh yes," Terry croaked, body quivering with the effort he was extending into staying still.

There was no further warning, just Blaise pressing forward and inexorably breaching him. Despite the fact that he needed this almost as much as he needs air, Terry made a high, panicked noise and tried to scramble away. Blaise leaned on him, holding him down against the bed with his hands and torso and keeping his legs open with his lower body, voice low and soothing as he whispered words of praise in Terry's ear.


It took Terry a while to realize that Blaise had stopped pushing deeper, and that his words had changed from 'just relax, let it happen, going to be fine' to 'look at me, see me, come on, baby, open your eyes.' After another minute or so that he spent trying to think through the panic and the burn in his ass, Terry figured out that he had scrunched his eyes shut the moment Blaise started to enter him.

Terry let out a long, shuddering breath and opened his eyes. He gasped when he noticed the mirror on the wall behind the bed, wondering when it had appeared. It hadn't been there before, so Blaise must have conjured or Transfigured it at some point. The fact that Blaise was capable of such advanced magic made Terry angry; he wanted Blaise as desperate and needy as he himself was. He forced his eyes to stay open and studied the black man. Blaise was sweating, worry and wonder and want openly at war on his face, and Terry realized that Blaise was just as invested in this as he was, and he decided to stop worrying and just let the feelings take over.

"We can stop," Blaise offered, obviously having sensed that Terry was starting to think again.

Terry gave his head a sharp shake. He took a deep breath and forced his body to relax, muscle by muscle, his center opening to Blaise bit by bit; not welcoming, exactly, but not boarded up and padlocked shut anymore either.

When he thought he was as ready as he was ever going to be, he rasped out, "Okay, you can move now."

Blaise hesitated a moment longer, eyes calculating, and then must have decided to take Terry at his word and pushed in. It burned—it burned like hell—and Terry could hear himself grunting while Blaise fucked himself deeper with little twitches of his hips. Within moments, Terry was drenched with sweat and shaking but Blaise just kept going.


Terry couldn't tear his eyes away from the mirror; Blaise's eyes had captured him, and he was fascinated by the expression on the other man's face. Blaise's face had gone strangely devastated, and his shoulders jerked with every hitch of his hips. Terry felt hair underneath his fingers and realizes that he had gotten his hand on Blaise's sweaty thigh again and was trying to get him deeper.

"Come on, Blaise, want you inside me, want this, come on." It was his voice, he knew that, but he didn't remember making a conscious decision to say anything.

Blaise grunted, low and pained and Terry would be really worried about his lover, except Blaise was collapsing down across his body and yanking Terry's head around with both hands and kissing him deep and rough and perfect.

"So fucking good," Blaise babbled when he came up for air. "Terry, you feel—you're so—"

Terry couldn't think of anything to say; probably wouldn't have the strength to utter the words if he thought of anything anyway, so it was probably okay that he couldn't even form two thoughts together. He was too stunned by the fact that the twitching, invasive girth in his ass belonged to Blaise—and there seemed to be even more of it because Blaise grunted and shoved forward and the burn shot deeper.

Blaise's body was flush with Terry's now; his cock fully sheathed inside of him and his balls nestled up against Terry's ass. There was nothing between them at all but a little—okay, a lot—of lube from the lubrication spell and the idea of Blaise's skin rubbing up against his insides was making Terry's cock, which had gone mostly soft again while Blaise had worked his way inside, revive slightly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Blaise said, sounding dazed, and kissed him again. "Can I? Fuck, I need—I need to move, Terry, I—"

"Yeah. Yeah go," Terry said, hands fisting tightly in the sheets. The burn hadn't lessened at all, but he was fairly certain that it wasn't going to unless Blaise did something. Besides, Blaise sounded so fucking desperate and Terry is so glad to not be in this alone that he didn't have it in him to make him wait.

Pulling himself together enough to get a grip on the head board, Terry hung on while Blaise started fucking him. Blaise went slow at first—probably because Terry was too tight and Blaise was too big to do it any other way. Then, after he had pulled almost all the way out and conjured more lube to spread over his cock and Terry's hole, Blaise started moving faster.

The burn had faded a little, but hadn't disappeared completely, and the dragging rub of Blaise's cock against his insides was such a weird, intimate feeling that Terry couldn't manage to get more than half hard. He'd pretty much resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to get through this, when Blaise wrapped an oversized hand around his upper thigh. Before he knows what's happening, Terry mewled as his leg was pushed up and his hips pulled back so he was raised high up off the bed. Spread open like this, Terry felt even more exposed than before, but when Blaise thrust in again, the sweet spot at Terry's center didn't just spark but explode. His breath stuttered out like he'd been punched and his muscles spasmed.

Blaise adjusted his grip on Terry's thighs, holding him wide, and set up a slow, steady pace at the new angle. His muscles—chest, arms, stomach—ripple as he holds Terry in place. His throat works, skin sweat-slick and shining. His eyes are heated and so damned intent that Terry is certain his lover could see straight down to his bones. He can't take his eyes off Blaise in the mirror, almost too distracted by how gorgeous the other man looked to pay attention to the sensations spreading through his body.

He finally shifted his gaze to his own reflection, and Terry didn't recognize himself. The stunned man with the half-lidded, pleasure-fogged eyes didn't have anything to do with him. He was too pretty; spread out and eager to be fucked. He didn't really feel like himself either. Blaise had broken him open and spilled out secrets he hadn't even noticed he'd been keeping.


He couldn't worry about that now, though. It was too difficult to concentrate when he was fully hard again and rolling his hips back into Blaise like he couldn't get enough. The only reason he wasn't moaning loud enough to wake the dead is because he was panting too hard for breath to have managed it.

Blaise pushed on Terry's leg, stretching him open even more, and if this got any better, then Terry's heart was just going to give up on him. He was used to the friction of Blaise's cock as it slid in and out of him now, and that turned him on just as much as the way Blaise kept pounding against the sweet, shocky place inside. The feel of Blaise moving in him, claiming him, owning him, was a drug he was already addicted to.

Terry couldn't keep the crushing weight of ecstasy from his expression when he lifted his gaze to Blaise's in the mirror. His eyes were sharp beneath the lust and the pleasure, and Terry knew that Blaise was seeing this, seeing everything he was doing to him. More, he knewthat Blaise liked it, that Blaise was getting off on it, and then his orgasm hit him like a fucking freight train.

As if what he was doing to Terry's body wasn't enough, Blaise is talking again: a stream of cherishing words in that rough, honey-thick voice that rasped over Terry's skin like sandpaper.

"…so fucking tight, baby…Merlin, you feel so good…love watching you come apart…for me…just for me, you … keep you here, always…so open for me and shaking, fuck…come on, just…wider, baby, come on…"

The room dissolved in tiny little flashes as Blaise held him down and fucked him. Terry is vaguely aware that he was mewling, that his legs were trembling, that Blaise was kissing every inch of his skin that he could reach. They were both dripping with sweat, and Terry's skin was agonizingly hot and responsive, and Blaise was a brushfire moving against him.

All of Terry's muscles tightened up as he came, and Blaise's words cut off in a moan behind him. With his channel clenched, Blaise's cock feels ten times bigger; obvious and pulsing. Terry made a confused noise halfway between a moan and a sob as a second, violent burst of pleasure rides the tail end of his orgasm like an echo. Blaise lost his grip on Terry's leg—or maybe he let it go, Terry isn't rational enough at this point to tell—and he lost his balance and crashed down to the mattress, Blaise's body following him down and pressing him against the bed as Terry's cock let loose a final, weak spurt against the sheets.

Turning his head to the side and taking huge gulps of air, trying to calm him breathing, Terry shut his eyes and tilted his hips up and back in an effort to keep his sensitive cock from rubbing against the sheets—even that sensation would be too much right now. Blaise wrapped both of his hands around Terry's waist, pulling him back into each snap of his hips, like he could get deeper if he only tried hard enough.

Terry panted, his cock exhausted and softening despite the waves of arousal that were still running through him. It left him with a weird, floating feeling. As he hung limply in the afterglow of his orgasm, the moaning gasps he made between breaths sound more pained than needy. Behind him, Blaise was still going strong, hammering that sweet, shocky spot over and over, and Terry didn't think he could take much more of this.

Thankfully, he didn't have to find out whether his cock would have woken up again from over stimulation because Blaise gave one last series of stuttering, shallow thrusts and then came with Terry's name on his lips. Terry didn't feel the spill of semen at first, but after a few seconds he could tell the difference in the smoother, wetter glide of Blaise's cock through him.

Blaise kept thrusting mindlessly through his orgasm and then, finally, collapsed on top of Terry and crushed him against the bed. Terry couldn't find the strength to object beyond a single, weak grunt. Blaise immediately started kissing him—shoulder, crook of the neck, cheek—and Terry smiles sleepily against the pillow where he can't be seen.

God, Blaise could do that for days and it wouldn't get old. It felt like being worshipped—like being worthy. It'd been a long time since Terry had been able to have that, and he was more than willing to lie here in Blaise's arms and fall asleep.

His body felt like it was made of liquid, and he whimpered as Blaise withdrew and cleaned them up with a wordless spell. He sighed happily as Blaise lay down on his side, pulling Terry to him. He pillowed his head on Blaise's shoulder and cuddled closer; Mandy had never been big on cuddling but Terry loved it. Blaise chuckled and kissed his head.

Terry had no idea what would happen tomorrow, or when they got back to England, but he was too fucked out and exhausted to worry about that now. All he knew was that he didn't want to lose this, and he thought that Blaise felt the same way. But there would be time to figure it out later.

He was looking forward to it, he realized, as sleep finally dragged him under.


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