Author's Note: Rated R

DISCLAIMER:
It's 2:30 in the morning, and I still don't own Harry Potter. I'm still not J.K. Rowling. And as my beautiful and wonderful beta-reader told me, Blaise is a male name. Buuut...I'm too lazy to go back through the HP books and see if Blaise Zabini is male or female, so MY Blaise Zabini is female.

Plot: ...Plot? What plot? (PWP)

*Taste*

"This whole school is messed up," you thought yesterday when you reapplied your dark red lipstick, buttoned up your blouse, and doused yourself with perfume to rid yourself of the smell of sex.

The Gryffindors were mostly drunkards (it works, doesn't it? Drunks are surprisingly strong and brave, after all), the Hufflepuffs ran a private harem (they were only loyal to customers, but they truly did work hard to please them, for a price), the Slytherins were thieves (not only of material things, mind you. Slytherins weren't above robbing people of their virginity) and all their boys were the flamingest gays you'd ever seen (Draco Malfoy's always seemed awfully peculiar to you, hasn't he?) and the Slytherin girls fucked anything that had something vaguely resembling a solid shape, and the Ravenclaw girls were all depressed lesbians who'd screw any willing female (you of all people would know the truth in that statement) while the boys were all bisexual crackpots.

"The Ministry of Magic would die if they knew what kind of school Dumbledore's been running," you gasp between moans as Blaise Zabini presses her lips (she's been wearing Pansy's purple lipstick again, you notice) to your throat, sucking hard to leave a dark red mark on your dark brown skin.

She only laughs, hooking her arms under your thighs and hoisting you up to sit on a desk. She kneels between your thighs, pulling off your underwear and flinging it across the empty Arithmancy classroom (you honestly wouldn't have minded if the new professor walked in and joined. She was quite pretty) and says, "Just like a Ravenclaw. You think. Too much. Even during sex!" and she leans forward, and you know where that snake-like tongue will go (you needn't have even used your infinite Ravenclaw wisdom to determine that) but you gasp and shiver uncontrollably anyway because every time the sensation overwhelms you, despite how many times she's done it before.

You watch in wonder, realising for the first time just how cadaverously white Blaise's skin really is as you see her hands pulling your knees apart and her cheek resting on your thigh. And then her hand moves and you feel her fingers and your stomach muscles tense (squeezesqueezesqueezeSQUEEZE until you feel like you might vomit or suffocate) and you try hard not to fall backwards. You want to tangle your hands in her black, black hair (but they're the only things keeping you up and if you let go, then surely you'd fall) and look into her green eyes (but she'd laugh and tell you to quit staring), you always want to, but you never do. All you are is a Ravenclaw, all you are is clever. It's your sister who's the Gryffindor, the brave one. She'd have the audacity (that you lack) to tell the girl who so enjoyed torturing her that she thinks she fell in love with said tormenter somewhere down the line.

With a final lick and a final shudder, you gasp, muscles convulsing and falling backwards onto your elbows. And then you reciprocate, you return the favour with such fervor and enthusiasm that you don't even notice when she's screaming Pansy's name and not yours (Pansy did everyone, the slut. You'd even heard of her current rumoured affair with Hermione Granger) but when she finally comes, you rest your head against her thigh and wonder what reduced you to a slut, what possessed you to start fucking with a Slytherin (Blaise Zabini, of all people) after another Slytherin dumped you (Pansy was so cruel about it, too), and you realise in shock that you don't even remember anymore.

You feel Blaise slythering up your body and you turn your dark eyes to look at her. Pansy's purple lipstick is smeared across her lips, and you remember how wonderful you used to think Pansy looked like that. She leans up to kiss you, driving her tongue deep into your mouth, pressing against you and moaning. You both stand, silently acknowledging your mutual satiety. You button your blouse and reapply your lipstick as she runs her hands through her hair. She walks out, glancing back over her shoulder at you to ask, "Tomorrow?" to which you reply with a nod.

You walk back to the Ravenclaw tower, noting that it's only 6 PM and it's still light outside (it's a Friday, nearly everyone is either running around outside or meandering around the school); you hope there won't be many people in the dorms. You open the door to your dorm, closing it behind you with a sigh, paying no mind to the Asian girl (she was probably just lonely again) sitting on your bed. Cho stands and walks toward you, cupping your cheek and kissing you (was that tenderness? Sentiment?), not even flinching when she says, "Padma, you taste like sex."

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her waist and biting her neck and saying, "I always do, Cho."