A/N: This is my good friend Porsha's birthday present! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU! And don't come too close, I don't need any STIs at the moment. *swats away* You can worship me from afar. u_u
But seriously.
I really, really hope you like it! My two excuses are cliché but excuses all the same:
-writer's block, generally due to being half-killed by exams lately so that my creativity was kinda stamped out
-my first real attempt at Luna/Blaise
But still, I think I like this one. n_n
She'd been turning him into a right bloody poof, this leggy, crazy, beautiful blonde. But if Luna Lovegood smiled at him more, Blaise knew he'd be a happy bloody poof, and that was something.
And here she was now, standing in front of him, telling him seriously about Wyndflutes, whatever those were. At the moment he couldn't escape how frustrating it all was. For Merlin's sake, he'd been so much more direct than he usually was. A pair of his boxers under her pillow, and a signed note that said, Both my underwear and I are extremely eager to get to know you. His mates—Draco especially—had been quite mortified (and amused) at the whole thing.
Suddenly, this afternoon she'd just popped up out of nowhere telling him serenely that she wanted to speak to him, making him blush—dammit—and that was that. Bloody Wyndflutes.
She hadn't even mentioned the boxers. He'd followed her shapely arse all across the corridor—he was observant like that—and suddenly she was in front of him, just...talking. It was absurd. And beautiful.
God, she was beautiful.
But even if he was turning into a bloody Hufflepuff, he shouldn't lose face.
He gave an easy, sardonic grin. "Well, yeah, Lovegood, I know you're pretty much the guru on things I don't care about, but seriously, aren't you getting some sort of signal here? When I meet girls, I live by the 'actions speak louder than words' policy."
Luna simply shook her head, smiling. Her golden hair waved gently, her large, pretty blue eyes sparkling. "You're so very rude, you know that?" she said matter-of-factly. "But I can see the Wyndflutes. They were swarming around that little love letter you gave me! They're all around you now. So I don't care."
Finally, a reference to his efforts. Except—love letter? It had been more of a sex letter! More like a cocky sentence than anything else. Love letter. He snorted. He did not love Luna Lovegood. Of course not. The very idea.
He'd had plenty of old flames, and this one just happened to burn a bit brighter than the rest. That was all.
He gave a lopsided sort of smirk, and took a step toward her. "What about the other little present I left you?" he murmured. "Bet you all but hugged that to yourself, didn't you?"
Luna stared at him for a moment with those eyes that made him want to sigh helplessly—like a poof—and suddenly laughed. She reached into her handbag and pulled out his 'present', and waved it in front of his face. "This?" she inquired, smiling. "You can have it back, you know. I'm quite sure it's not going to fit me."
"Did you try it on?" he said hopefully. The idea of Luna Lovegood, naked, giggling to herself and pulling on his boxers was equally funny and...well. It made his head swim a bit.
Her eyes lingered on his tall, swarthy form and the slanted, mischievous dark eyes. She beamed at him and said, "Come for a walk with me."
And she wandered down the steps and into the grounds.
Shaking his head and muttering darkly to himself, he followed her. If Draco could see him now, he'd tease the life out of him. Blaise Zabini following nutty Loony Lovegood into the grounds like some lost puppy.
But Luna's gaze on him was confident. She'd seen the Wyndflutes, and they were never wrong. And she liked the way he looked. She liked his fast, wicked grin, and those fierce black, constantly amused eyes. She liked his face, the dark, smooth skin...she liked the way his hair fell over his eyes, silky black and artfully tousled.
"You're quite easy to read, you know," she told him.
"Go on, love. Look at me and read all you want."
"You're always amused. You look at everyone like they're puppets for your entertainment. And you're usually entertained. Which is wrong," she added seriously. "We're all puppets with a thousand strings, and no one person controls us."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he did best. He took a step toward her, his eyes gleaming, and murmured huskily, "Well, what can I say? It's fun to pull the strings sometimes." And, smirking, he tugged at a strand of her golden hair.
She laughed merrily. "See? I was right."
He said nothing, just walking beside her, and her hair was yellow in the buttery sunshine.
She glanced at him. "I've seen you, you know."
"Seen me what?" he asked warily. He then winked at her. "Been following me into the showers, have you? Those kinky Nargles giving you ideas..."
"Oh, no, I respect your privacy," she assured him. "But I've seen you looking at me."
"Looking at you? Looking at you?" He gave a half-hearted scoff. "Well, Lovegood, isn't that a flattering assumption! Okay, though, I'll admit—" He appraised her pointedly "—I have a thing for long-legged, spaced-out blondes, they so often cater to my every need, but—"
"You look at me a lot, don't you, Blaise Zabini? And you don't look entertained by me. You look confused."
He stared at her helplessly, and she smiled encouragingly at him. "It's okay," she said gently. "We all look at each other sometimes. People are interesting."
He gazed out at the lake. "Yeah. People are interesting. And girls are interesting. And hot." He grinned at her. "You're a girl, Lovegood."
"That's quite right, I'm not a boy," she told him. "Though I'm sure it must be nice to be a boy."
She said nothing for a few moments, and he started hoping maybe she'd forgotten the whole staring-at-her-like-an-idiot thing, but she continued suddenly, "So I've seen you, Blaise Zabini."
He sighed.
She turned to him, and her eyes were suddenly so solemn and grave he just stared. "The Wyndflutes," she whispered. "They're all around you, millions, billions, and they're so beautiful."
He sighed again. "All right, Lovegood, I'll bite—what in the hell are these things?"
"They're creatures of love, Blaise. Little purple lights that dance in the warmth of love. And you're surrounded by them." She reached out her small, pretty hand, and—to his intense surprise—lightly touched his face. Her touch burned his skin, and he closed his eyes, his dark lashes fanning his hollow cheeks.
"They pass through my hand like mist," she murmured. "But so many, Blaise. Such powerful love."
Suddenly he was weary. The only reason she was talking to him at all was because she saw a bunch of odd insects of whatever near his head. He moved away from her hand, and she saw the humor in his dark eyes dim. He grinned half-heartedly. "Never did have much time for that sappy nonsense, Lovegood. A good shag every night, that's what keeps my blood humming."
"That's very crass," she said in that same matter-of-fact tone she'd used before.
He looked intently into her eyes, his own dark and hot. "It's fun," he whispered.
He leaned away, grinning. "You should try it," he told her. "Get out a bit, lift your skirt more often."
She shook her head. "It's still quite crass. But I don't mind. The Wyndflutes—"
"Damn the Wyndflutes." He hadn't meant his voice to be so harsh, but it ended up that way. He touched her face again, feeling the soft skin of her cheek beneath his fingers. Her large, pretty blue eyes stared curiously into his.
"There it is again," she whispered. "That confused look. Your eyes are fierce, and beautiful, and confused. What are you thinking? I don't know. I can't read this look..."
"Merlin, girl," he muttered. "I'm not some bloody Romeo."
And then, he nearly died, because so quickly he hardly saw it, she leaned into him, and crushed her lips to his.
He didn't even know what to do. He, Blaise Zabini, the Casanova of all Casanovas, was so bloody stumped by this girl that he nearly keeled over at the feel of her lips, so warm, so incredibly sweet.
The kiss was short, and she leaned away. He thought she had an angel's face, with those big sea-blue eyes, and all that golden hair.
She laughed. "You're quite famous, Blaise Zabini. I've had people tell me a lot of things about you. One of them is that you're sexy. And I have to admit, I quite agree."
His jaw nearly dropped open.
She gazed at him speculatively. "It's funny, but you taste a bit like chocolate. Yummy like chocolate. And I've always thought chocolate can be quite sexy. I think I rather like kissing you."
She smiled at him, turned, and walked away, leaving him blushing furiously behind his dark skin. Finally he muttered, "Yeah, Lovegood, I like kissing you too."
And, swearing under his breath, he stalked away, swatting irritably at invisible purple lights around his head.
A/N: I hope I got the characterization okay. What do you think, people?
Please don't forget to review!
And Porsha: the strippers are singing for you in their sexy but drunk voices. :D
~starlit skyes~