FANTASY
A set of Blaise/Draco HP drabbles
by The Ultimate Otaku
It was impossible NOT to be distracted. Every time the shadow moved across the table, he had an urge to look up. Every time that slim hand slid across to grab a frog's leg, or a pygmy puff tongue, or ginger root, Blaise had to resist the urge to stare at it. Finally he got caught staring and that silky smooth voice snapped, "Why do you keep looking at me, Zabini?"
Blaise lifted his head up, glaring back at the blonde Slytherin. "Because I can, Malfoy. And just because I can slice my roots better than your cronies can aim and piss doesn't give you the right to steal my potion ingredients. Back off."
The blonde huffed, glared, and was silent the rest of the lesson. When it was over, the boy tossed Crabbe his bag, and stalked off. Blaise stood up, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He glared at the insolent smirk that the blonde sent his way, and purposely strode to the opposite door to avoid bumping into the snot.
After sitting through an hour or so of Arithmancy in which Granger raised her hand far too many times (again), Blaise shuffled off to the dungeons to get an hour of sleep before dinner. He hadn't been sleeping so well lately. The dreams kept waking him up. He was tired of falling asleep and waking up with his heart pumping and the sheets tangled around his limbs. He was tired of having to excuse himself from Quidditch games and missing the endings. He was tired of seeing Malfoy everywhere he went. Why did the obnoxious prat have to look like such a good fuck?
Blaise had tried to shake it off several times. But Malfoy had grown taller over the summer, and years of being Seeker had made his body lean and toned. It was hard not to look when he took off his shirt before disappearing behind bed curtains at night. Blaise remembered when he had seen Malfoy in a fencing match last summer. That was how it had all begun. His newest stepfather had brought him to the event in hopes of shattering his cold indifference.
Blaise had watched, unknowing of who was fighting, as one person had repeatedly defeated several opponents. He watched as the figure moved effortlessly across the floor,
parrying and countering with smooth, quick movements. The sleek musculature of Quidditch players had always attracted Blaise, and he had recognized this conqueror as such. As the duels became more and more vigorous, Blaise had found himself losing breath. This young man, this fencer, was fascinating. The movements of his body alone were enough of a seduction; Blaise needed no name, no prerequisite, all he knew was that he wanted that body for his own satisfaction.
Then he had seen Lucius Malfoy in the crowd, and when the tournament ended, realized the second place person he had been watching was Malfoy Junior. The fates were against Blaise, to give such a beautiful boy such a nasty attitude. Every time a word came out of that boy's mouth, Blaise wanted to vomit. It wasn't because of the words Draco said; it was the way he said them. Blaise could understand pride, sure. He was a Pureblood, too, and a Slytherin. But the
way Malfoy was so eager to prove himself, it disgusted Blaise. Why not be content knowing you were better than the rest? That was enough for Blaise. He didn't understand why the Malfoy always wanted so much attention.
The dreams of himself entangled with that lithe body had been torturing Blaise for nights on end. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to hate Malfoy, or not care about him, like he had before. But it was impossible. At every turn, the boy was there, and his beauty was distracting. The gentle slope of that neck would grab Blaise's eye in Potions, and he would lose his concentration. The graceful movements on the broom during Quidditch...the pale skin when the shirt was off...the way Malfoy's voice would purr low when he was saying something especially nasty...they all made Blaise lose his composure and want to pounce on him.
He knew that Malfoy was no stranger to sexual advances. The boy had girls from Slytherin fawning over him all the time. Blaise had seen that look in Malfoy'seyes, of purpose, when a younger student would deliver a message telling Malfoy he had a visitor. Blaise watched carefully from his dark corner in the common room. As far as he saw, Malfoy never had male visitors. He would silently lead his guests up to his room, and shut the door, and lock it. And that would be that.
Blaise burned in agony when he heard the click of that door shutting. First of all, it meant he would be banned from his own dormitory for the night. Secondly, it meant he'd have to imagine the two of them entwined...the girl in the place he should be in...those pale hands of Malfoy's, were they soft, or rough? Blaise liked to imagine that the Malfoy secretly liked it rough. That he would hit Blaise until his body was numb, or that he would enjoy the cold cruel kiss of metal around his wrists. Blaise liked to imagine a lot of things.
Please tell me what you think! And if you have any Blaise/Draco fics to recommend, I'd love to read how these two are written together.
