Strange Bedfellows

A collection of one shots and drabbles with rare pairs (at least for me.)

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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His

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A Blinny Drabble/One Shot

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GoldenSnitch18

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Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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"Why did you come here with him?" Blaise asked. He had shut and locked the door firmly behind him, ensuring their privacy. He was not interested in being interrupted.

Ginny glanced back over her shoulder as she made her way towards the desk. He had no idea who the desk belonged to, and he honestly didn't care. "He buys my drinks."

"It's a Ministry function," he reminded her. "The drinks are free."

"Why do you care?" she asked. She had reached the desk and settled herself at its edge.

He followed her, taking his place between her legs. His hand settled on her thigh as slid up under her skirt. "You know why," he told her darkly.

"I'm not going to stop dating because you like pushing my dress up."

"I told you to come alone." He had whispered in her ear at Draco's promotion party two weeks ago. She had been bent over a couch at the time, distracted by him sliding inside of her, but he knew she had heard him.

"I don't like being ordered around." She crossed her arms across her chest, which only pushed her breasts closer to his eyes. "Anyways, you seemed to appear with Daphne Greengrass."

"She is a friend," he told her. It was true enough. He and Daphne had fucked a few times, but not in months. Not since this.

"Harry is a friend," Ginny countered.

"He was more than a friend." It wasn't the same at all. She had been in love with Potter at some point. That had never been a risk with Daphne and him.

"Not anymore," she promised, meeting his gaze.

"How can I trust that?" he asked.

"I honestly don't care if you do or not." She looked away towards the door, and he tried to control his emotions, tried to distract himself. His fingers moved to beneath the soft, silky fabric covering her lips.

"Does he do this?" he asked. He stroked the fabric gently before pushing it aside. He tasted her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume mixing with something that was just her and so damn intoxicating.

"He has," she said. He pushed aside his annoyance, knowing that she was just saying it to annoy him, to drive him mad, which she very good at. Instead of responding, Blaise removed his fingers from her and pulled at the silk, fucking green of course, sliding it down her exquisite legs. They were freckled as well. Every inch of her was freckled, and he desired to taste each one.

His eyes met hers, watching her closely as she licked her lips expectantly. He knew that she was waiting for him to move forward, to reach for his buckle, to push inside of her, to cure the ache he was currently ignoring in his trousers, but he would not. He held her gaze as he dropped to his knees, pushing her legs apart. Her midnight blue dress slid even further up her thighs, revealing her perfect lips to him as her eyes grew dark with lust. She knew now, knew that he would taste her, would make every second about satisfying her.

He leaned towards her heat, relishing in the feel of her skin against his cheek. His tongue slid out slowly, and then with one long swipe of his tongue, he made her moan and clench the edge of the oak desk on either side of her knees. Her audible pleasure made him smirk even as his tongue began to swirl around the sensitive nub at the head of her core. "Zabini," she whispered, and he knew that she was his. She was always his. This was the game they played, dancing this way and that, neither ever really committing to what they wanted, but she was his, and he was, without a single doubt, hers. When his fingers moved back inside her wet center, she tightened around him, tensing against the sensations. He persisted, licking her nub with practiced expertise. They had been doing this, meeting in private at public events, for months. He knew exactly what she needed and craved from him, knew precisely how to turn his fingers to make her arch her back, her breath coming in quick bursts as she tried to control herself. She need not bother honestly. They played their games. They told their lies, but he knew. He knew that she was his, that the bright red flush of ecstasy on her face was only for him. He knew that no one else had touched her since their first time. It was an unspoken understanding. They brought dates, they played the game, but they both knew that they only wanted each other.

"Blaise," she said, his name coming sharp and quick as her legs moved in to hold his head in place, her body trembling, her knuckles surely white. He continued his movements as she came, not relenting until she finally pushed his head away in an exhausted shove. She fell back against the desk. Papers and quills dropped to the floor.

Blaise simply grabbed her knickers from the floor and slid them back over her legs, standing to lift her butt from the desk and finish the job. "Come to my flat," he said.

She looked up at him from tired eyes, and then pulled herself back up to sit before him. "I'm here with someone."

"I don't care, and neither do you."

"That isn't the way …"

"Fuck the way." He moved in pulling her to him quickly with his hand on her neck and kissed her hard, letting her taste herself on his lips. "Come to my flat, please." He said, the extra word tasting vile in his mouth, but she was worth it. The sight of her red hair splayed out across his black sheets, the sound of his name over and over in her sweet voice, the feel on her soft body sleeping against his would all be worth it.

"Lead the way," she said softly, and he took her hand. His.