Word Count: 4341
Warning(s): Language, m/m porn
Summary: Ron thinks Blaise is up to something. Blaise is, but it's not at all what Ron expects.
"So how's Victor doing?"
"Quite wonderfully, actually. Did you know..." Ron let Hermione chatter on about her boyfriend, using the guise of looking at her to actually look over her shoulder at the "eighth year" Slytherins. They were technically seventh year, what with McGonagall decreeing that everyone would be repeating the previous years lessons.
But she was kind enough to at least give them their own dorm... even though it was technically just the Room of Requirement. Surprising that Crabbe's fiendfyre hadn't destroyed the whole thing, but Neville had figured that one out. As they'd been told upon returning, Neville got that room.
The only problem was that they were stuck sharing this "dorm" with everyone who'd returned for their eighth year. Which included the Slytherins. Many students had gone on to live their lives, since the regular teachers had still done their lessons as normally as possible.
There were probably only thirty from their year, most of them Ravenclaw. A handful of Hufflepuffs, a few Gryffindors, and exactly five Slytherins. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Draco Malfoy, and... Blaise Zabini.
And the irritating part was that Malfoy and Harry were developing some kind of... friendship. It was cautious, a little stilted. But Malfoy was surprisingly normal since his gitness had been beaten out of him by Vol... Volde... Voldemort. Or at least that's the way Ron interpreted it. Why else would Malfoy go to the trials, even after his own dad was chucked in Azkaban, and give away so many Death Eaters? And, well, maybe after hearing Malfoy talk about Charity Burbage's murder, Ron could understand why the Malfoys would be able to do nothing but follow Volde... mort's orders. Malfoy had been afraid for his family, which Harry often reminded him when he said something particularly scathing to the Slytherin prat.
Ron could understand that. Ron could sympathise with that a little bit. Ron could also allow the git to talk to them and he generally wasn't very jealous when he and Harry went off alone. They had... history and they were probably just trying to work that out. The conversations with Malfoy were becoming less stilted as a result and just recently, Harry and Malfoy had been referring to one another by their first names. Hell of a change in just a few months. So Draco wasn't the problem.
Pansy and Millicent stuck close to one another and were sailing through their days without causing any trouble; they weren't the problem. Nott's father was in Azkaban and he'd immersed himself within Seamus and Dean's little... thing. They'd bonded, surprisingly, over Quidditch. And Nott didn't seem to mind so much that Seamus was a half-blood. Nott wasn't a problem.
The problem was Blaise bloody Zabini, the git with seven mysteriously dead fathers. No one even knew for sure if any of the men Zabini's mother had hooked up with was Zabini's father. He had his mother's maiden name, after all. He was probably some bastard. Hell, he probably wasn't even pure-blood. And he certainly wasn't doing anything to ingratiate himself with the other students.
He was as standoffish as he always had been, even before the war. Ron had asked Malfoy about it the day before and had gotten a sigh and a roll of shoulders in response. "He's always been like that, Weasley. I'm sure he would call me his closest friend and I couldn't even tell you where he lives."
So Zabini was a problem. Harry had always had good instincts when it came to whether or not Malfoy was up to something (ignoring second year where they'd all thought Draco was the heir of Slytherin; instincts took time to develop), so Ron thought he was a pretty good judge about Zabini. And Ron was pretty sure that Zabini was up to something.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Ron looked up, distracted. "What?"
"No, of course you're not. Will you stop staring at Blaise? I know he's an attractive-"
"Hermione!" Ron hissed, interrupting her. "I'm not staring at him because of that." And no one knew of his sexuality but Hermione and Harry anyway. He'd never quite figured out how to come out to anyone else. He hadn't even realized it until Lavendar Brown had, well... He hadn't been able to perform with her. He'd written it off as stress and she'd done everything she could to get him going.
Thank Godric they'd broken up when they had. Ron sighed, quietly relieved that the girl hadn't been one of the Gryffindors to stay behind.
"What else would you be staring at him for? He isn't doing anything."
"That's the problem," Ron muttered, stabbing at his pudding. "Something's obviously going on."
"Ronald," Hermione scolded and Ron rolled his eyes. "You really have to put all that behind you. The war's over now and it's not as if Blaise had anything to do with it."
That was true enough. Malfoy had revealed that during the trials, when the Ministry official had gone through every single name in the entire Slytherin house. At the end of it, Malfoy had waited a beat, lifted a brow, and rattled off the names of a few Hufflepuffs and had rather cheekily asked if the ministry cared about who in the other houses was affiliated with the Death Eaters or if they were only interested in the Slytherins. Grossly unfair, he'd mused and Harry had leaned over.
"He's right," Harry had whispered. "It is unfair... I didn't think anyone in Hufflepuff was on Voldemort's side."
But, as Hermione had just said, the war was over. And, yeah, Zabini had had nothing to do with it. He hadn't come to Hogwarts at all the previous year and he and his mother had hid like cowards. Okay, maybe that was unfair. A lot of people had hid during the war; they'd had to stay safe. And it wasn't as though Ron was begrudging anyone else their right to hide. Just Zabini... and that was unfair.
Ron propped his elbow on the table, flicked a final glance Zabini's way and jumped a little when he saw those dark eyes on him. He wasn't at all used to the boy looking back at him, and his glance turned into a stare. Zabini didn't look away either, but he did slide his spoon into his mouth indecently slowly. Eyes half closed, he sucked on it and Ron's mouth went dry. His fingers danced over the handle of the spoon and his head slowly, slowly eased back, and his tongue flicked over the curve.
And then a single, dark brow arched, and he was on his feet. He didn't bother to nod to those around him as he walked out and Ron was left blinking and wondering if he had really just gotten hard as a rock watching Blaise Zabini fellate a spoon.
The Slytherin rooms were in the back. None of them said it aloud, but they all knew why. The five Slytherins may have done nothing necessarily wrong since the start of the year, but there was still a rather basic distrust of them. So putting them in the back made sure that any Slytherin would have to pass through every other "common room" (foyers that just split the Houses between boys and girls) to make it to the door and out.
Gryffindors were, of course, in the front. And Ron was up on his own, writing a potions essay and wondering why he could never write potions essays at a decent time of the day. Besides the fact that he always waited for the last minute, of course. He looked up when he heard a soft sound, eyes rounding when he saw who was creeping out. He'd been right! Blaise was up to something.
He waited until the other young man left before casting a disillusionment charm on himself and slinking after him. There wasn't any time to go for Harry's invisibility cloak and he probably wouldn't have let Ron out with it anyway. He was on Hermione's side as far as leaving Blaise alone was concerned. "We're all just trying to move on, Ron. Leave him be, alright?"
Leave him be indeed. Now he understood what Harry had felt like when he'd seen Draco acting suspiciously and had gone after him. Ron went after the other boy, following him through corridor after corridor until he really had no idea where they had gone.
And then Blaise slipped down an alcove and Ron figured he'd finally reached his destination. The redhead peered in, but it was too dark to see. So he freshened the charm with the quietest of whispers and started in. He didn't encounter Zabini until a hand reached out, grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. He found himself suddenly cushioned between a surprisingly firm body and the wall, and his eyes didn't have any choice but to lock onto the narrowed amber ones. His other hand was captured and both were jerked above his head, Zabini's long fingers wrapping around his wrists to trap them.
Ron blinked, swearing at himself. He was so bloody stupid. How could he have fallen for this? But then he steeled himself against it and glared right back at the boy. "What are you doing? A bloke can't take a walk?"
Zabini's light laugh was humorless. "I could ask you the same thing. You were following me." He pressed closer, a leg slipping between Ron's. Through sheer force of will, Ron didn't shiver at the sudden vulnerable position, Zabini's knee pressing up into his groin. It was surprising, being so close to the man and realizing that he was a couple of inches taller. Ron was used to being one of the tallest in a group, blinked a few times as he realized that he... liked that Zabini was taller.
He remembered the spoon, then, and color flooded his cheeks. "You can't prove that I was following you, Zabini."
"Just like I can't prove that you got hard earlier."
His heart began beating a little faster. There was no way Zabini had noticed that. "I dunno what you mean."
"Oh really?" His dark eyes glinted, his knee shifted to apply a little more pressure, and he nabbed one of Ron's hands, bringing it down. He uncurled the tight fist Ron had made and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth. Ron sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going round. Those dark eyes closed partway as the mouth sucked, tongue lapping and pressing at the digits.
"C-cut it out, Zabini."
"Cut what out, Ron?"
The first name was a little too intimate for Ron's sensibilities. He made a soft sound, trying to writhe away, but Zabini held him fast. His mouth moved forward and his hand was jerked back up and clamped down on again. His teeth went into the lobe of Ron's ear, earning a throaty groan that was forcefully cut off the moment Ron realized he was making it.
"Blaise," he began, making a choking sound when the taller boy flicked his tongue over the shell of his ear. Lavendar had done this, but it hadn't had nearly the same effect. "Blaise," he said again and had the boy's teeth on his neck. "Bloody hell," he breathed, breath hitching as Blaise's knee pressed in further. It was then that Ron realized that he'd been grinding against the boy's thigh. "Bloody hell," he repeated.
"You're rather pent up for a war hero, aren't you? I would have assumed that you would be able to get all the girls, even here. Are you trying to tell me that you and Granger never...?"
"Perhaps if it was girls I wanted, we would have."
The mouth at his neck paused, the head they were attached to leaning back. Blaise lifted a single brow, gazing at Ron with a sudden interest. "You're gay, then."
He couldn't believe that the first person he was coming out to besides his friends was Blaise Zabini, but he was practically riding his thigh so it seemed fairly obvious to him. "Course I am. It's not a secret." Even if Blaise was only the third person he'd told. It just wasn't one of those things that came into a conversation often.
"I see." Blaise's voice lowered, his free hand running over the front of Ron's t-shirt. "Than you and Potter."
If it was possible for Ron's blush to deepen, it would've. "He's my best mate, not my boyfriend."
"I don't hear one of your arguments being that he's straight."
Sorry, Harry. "He isn't. So what?"
Blaise nodded slightly. "I thought as much. I had assumed, though, that you were straight."
Ron would've shrugged had his hands still not been held above his head. "Well, I'm not." He looked at Blaise cautiously. "Are you?"
The smallest of smiles curved Blaise's lips as he took hold of one of Ron's hands again, bringing it down and down and oh, Godric he was as hard as Ron. The redhead swallowed and, since only his wrist was captured, he was able to turn his hand and cup the bulge. Blaise hissed directly into Ron's ear and Ron couldn't help but smile a bit. "So yeah. You are, then."
"Yes." There was a beat of silence in which both boys wondered just what was happening. "I was headed to the astronomy tower. When I left."
Ron almost winced. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd been following the bloke. "To meet someone?"
"To wank," Blaise corrected, "and remember how blue your bloody eyes get when you're getting hard."
"You were... going to think of me?" He made a sound when his hand was jerked back up and, again, clamped down on. His wrists were probably going to be bruised by the time Blaise let him go.
"You keep staring at me," Blaise whispered, lips against Ron's ear. "I was raised to call you a blood traitor, to despise people like you. All seven of mother's husbands acted that way, my mother acted that way. And then the war came and she hid away and I went with her because she was suddenly afraid that Volde...mort would be the one to win."
It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who still hesitated with the name, but why was Blaise telling him this? "Hypocritical bitch," Blaise continued and his knee pressed up, renewing pressure he'd slackened. Ron's head fell back on a moan. "But you," the dark boy whispered, "and your little friends didn't hide even when it became evident that your side would most likely lose."
"We weren't..." He swallowed. "We weren't going to give up without a bloody good fight."
"Evidently not," Blaise mused. "It irritates me that I have more respect for the people I was raised to despise, like you and Granger, than I have for my own mother. Respect is attractive. You don't respect me do you, Weasley?"
"No," he heard himself admit. "You didn't pick a side. You hid."
"I wasn't going to run off and leave my mother alone when I doubted I would be welcome on your side and rather disliked the world Vol... demort was trying to create." Blaise shrugged delicately and Ron found himself wanting to see those shoulders bared, wanted to find out what they'd feel like, taste like beneath his tongue. He swallowed hard. "I didn't want him to win. I believe that places me on your side, Weasley."
"Ron," he breathed. Blaise lifted a brow and Ron felt a rush of the brashness that tended to mark a Gryffindor. "It's Ron. You should be on first name basis with the bloke you're about to suck off."
Blaise pressed closer, eyes somehow darker than before. And, oh Godric, there were gold flecks tucked in that dark brown that absolutely shone. "Is that what I'm about to do... Ron?"
Ron rubbed his groin sinuously over Blaise's thigh. "Unless you'd rather go to the astronomy tower and wank."
"Sucking you off doesn't do much for me, Weasley."
He took a breath, trying to steady his heart rate and think sensibly. It didn't work. "Know any good lubrication spells?"
"One or two."
"Any qualms about fucking a bloke into a wall?"
Blaise pretended to think and Ron couldn't help it when his lips twitched in amusement. "No, I don't believe I have any of those."
"Then get your mouth down there, Zabini, and we'll get on first name basis."
Blaise lifted a brow. "In a minute," he decided and smoothly rubbed his lips against Ron's. Ron's eyes went wide, but soon fluttered closed as Blaise's tongue swept over his bottom lip and in-between. Ron parted his lips without argument, lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around Blaise's neck when the Slytherin took a hold of Ron's hips, leaving his hands free.
Someone moaned as tongues met, tangled, lapped. Blaise lifted a hand and buried it in the soft mop of red, tugged to angle Ron's head how he wanted it. There was another moan and busy hands were unbuckling Blaise's belt and diving for the zip and button without even removing it. Seconds later, Blaise's cock was exposed to the air and he shuddered.
He shuddered again when two long-fingered hands wrapped around the shaft and pumped. "Shit," Ron muttered against his mouth. "How the hell is that going to fit?"
Blaise let out a breathless laugh, a spell simply vanishing Ron's clothes. His hands flexed in surprise, squeezing Blaise's shaft and the man sucked in a sharp breath. "Ron," he hissed.
"You got rid of my clothes," he muttered and his lips were caught again. A long leg wrapped around Blaise's waist, hips grinded together, and Blaise felt his own clothes vanish. He hadn't even noticed Ron go for his wand; impressive. It was dropped onto the windowsill to Ron's left, Blaise curling his fingers protectively around his own before sinking to his knees.
Wasting no time - the sooner this was done, the sooner he'd be able to bury himself within the sexy redhead who'd been staring at him for weeks - Blaise wrapped a hand around the base of the shaft and hungrily licked the crown. There was a soft thud of Ron smacking his head back against the wall and a moan that could've either been from pain or pleasure burst out.
Blaise chose to believe that it was derived from pleasure, and sucked the head into his mouth, tongue dipping into the slit. Ron moaned again and this was definitely pleasured. His hands lowered, pressing Blaise's head closer until there was a warning scrape of teeth that had Ron giving a high-pitched keen.
Kinky fuck, Blaise thought and carefully scraped his teeth over the shaft again. He sucked Ron further into his mouth, taking a hold of his hips and pinning him to the wall so the oh, so responsive blighter wouldn't gag him. He sucked and swallowed until his nose brushed soft red curls. His tongue lapped as he sucked, cheeks hollowing.
Ron, unable to do much, made encouraging sounds and stroked Blaise's short hair. Blaise flicked his gaze up, found those blue eyes bright and needy, and growled possessively, sending vibrations through Ron's cock and up his spine. The eyes went blind, a choked groan escaping, and Blaise began to bob his head.
He hadn't really expected to enjoy doing this, but he slid a hand down, pressed a finger against Ron's entrance and the way the bloke moaned his name had his mind clouding. Unused to the sensation, Blaise dropped his hand, Ron's whine not helping clear his head at all. Blaise drew his head back, tongue slicking along the vein as he went.
Panting, Blaise lapped at the leaking head, fingers caressing the length. He lifted his wand with his other hand, pressed it against Ron's hole and muttered the spell that sent a warm, clear gel pouring out of the end. Ron gasped at the sensation, cried out when he felt a long finger press inside. When it began to thrust, Ron's hands curled into fists over Blaise's scalp. A second finger had him spreading his legs, instinctively trying to give the man as much room as he could and then there was a third.
"Blaise," he whined, trying to impale himself further on the fingers that were stretching him wide. What had started as an uncomfortable feeling had quickly morphed into something Ron wanted more of. He didn't notice that Blaise was no longer sucking on him, hips twitching desperately and an outcry that could probably be heard two floors all around suddenly broke free when Blaise brushed a tight little bundle of nerves within him.
"Salazar, Ron..." Blaise swallowed thickly, withdrawing his fingers and Ron gasped and rolled his hips to get them back. He clutched his wand, getting to his feet and the lubrication spell coated his length.
"Blaise," Ron moaned, hands going to Blaise's shoulders. "Please, Blaise, bloody hell..."
"Yes," he replied, taking a hold of one of Ron's legs, lifting it and wrapping it around his waist. His cock nestled in the crack, Ron's pressing against his abdomen. "Oh, yes." It was all the invitation needed for Ron to lift his other leg, shoulders bracing against the wall. He lowered his hips to try and take matters into his own hands, making a needy, frustrated sound when it didn't work.
Blaise bit his lip; he was so deliciously eager. He'd never actually been with anyone this willing to show off what they were feeling. But Ron's skin was tinted a sexily adorable pink, his eyes such a bright blue they nearly stole Blaise's breath. And then, at that first breach within the tight hotness that was Ronald Weasley, Blaise's breath was stolen.
Ron made a gasping sound, his grip of Blaise's shoulders tightening significantly as Blaise slid deeper and deeper. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, unused to feeling quite so full. Blaise swallowed thickly, face buried in Ron's neck. "Fuck," he breathed and Ron grunted his agreement.
They stayed like that for a long moment while Ron got his bearings, body relaxing around the intrusion. He rolled his hips, bit into his lip hard. Bloody hell, this felt good. "This," he breathed, "is the part where you fuck me into the wall."
Blaise's fingers curled into Ron's hips and, with a wolfish grin, obliged. His thrusts were hard and fast and steady, and Ron's head tossed side to side, howls of pleasure escaping as each move Blaise made massaged his prostate. He babbled encouragements, hips rolling. His short nails bit into Blaise's shoulders, drawing groans from the Slytherin.
Ron was tight and hot, each spasm of his body only making it better. Each thrust sent Blaise spiraling towards the edge at a rate he'd never experienced before, so he clung a little tighter to those moving hips and growled into Ron's ear. "Touch yourself. Now."
Panting, Ron turned his head and captured Blaise's lips with his own. They panted into one another's mouths, tongues seeking and meeting now and then, as Ron reached down and grasped his cock, still damp from Blaise's mouth and the leaking pre. "Close," he managed, muscles tightening around Blaise.
"Now," Blaise groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as Ron tightened impossibly more, his release spurting out and covering them both. He howled into Blaise's mouth, the sound colliding with Blaise's own groan as he plunged deep and let his release tear through him. Ron's hips continued to move of their own accord, milking him dry until they both slowly, slowly sank to the floor.
Blaise dropped his head onto Ron's shoulder, shivered when he felt the other's tongue sweep over his scratched shoulder. "I was wonderin'," he muttered, voice thick, "what they tasted like."
"Oh," was all Blaise could think of to say. The silence stretched between them as each slowly came down from their highs and assessed the situation. Ron began to draw shy little meaningless patterns over Blaise's back, trying to come up with something to say to the bloke he'd just lost his virginity to. But Blaise spoke first, muffled by Ron's neck. "I'd like to invite you to follow me whenever you like."
"I, ah, only deal in exclusive following arrangements," Ron replied, the blush tinging his cheeks anew.
Blaise was quiet a moment. One thing he wasn't was a cheater. He'd seen enough times what that could lead to, had been to enough funerals to see that there were consequences when crossing the wrong person. He tilted his head back slowly. "So do I."
"Right, then." Ron worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "Well, Blaise... Want to... lead me to your bed?" There were so few Slytherins, and a wariness of what they could get into if they were together, that they had their own rooms. Ron was extremely grateful for that all of a sudden and made a sound of discomfort when Blaise pulled back and out. He made another sound when their clothes returned and yet another when Blaise pulled them to their feet.
"Yes, of course. Mrs. Norris or Filch should be here at any moment with the racket you were making." He brushed his fingertips over Ron's pink cheek, surprising himself with his own tenderness. "Ron," he whispered, and felt the redhead shiver against him as their lips met.
- Current Location:Mah Room
- Current Mood: cheerful
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