Fandom: Harry Potter
Person/Pairing: Blaise/Slytherin Quidditch team (minus Draco), ?/Blaise
Summary: Blaise offers himself up to save his friend. Hurt/comfort.
Prompt: 005 Rough
Word Count: 3195
Rating: NC-17 for heavy sexual subject matter of a less than pleasant nature.
Warnings: Rather dub-con, possibly could even be considered non-con, as well as chan (Blaise is 14)
My Prompt Table
Author's notes: This is the first part of a two-part story that came to me. There is an actual pairing here aside from Blaise with the team, but I want to keep it under wraps until the end. This is not a happy fic, but there is a sequel planned that will be much more so. Hugs and kisses to Xanateria for the ever-so-speedy beta work.
Slytherin had lost the Quidditch cup for the first time in years. Someone would have to pay. Never mind that they’d played an excellent game. Possibly their best game ever. Never mind that the only person who had ever beat Potter to the Snitch had only done so because Potter had fainted and fallen from his broom.
Flint had told Draco what would happen if they lost, and there was no bloody way in hell Blaise was about to let that happen to his best friend. He would do whatever it took to keep him safe from that—even if it meant volunteering himself in Draco’s place.
The door to the Slytherin changing room was closed, but Blaise didn’t let that deter him. He hoped he was in time. He was a bit worried when he found the main locker area empty. Maybe it had only been a threat to get Draco to play his best? Still, Blaise couldn’t believe that. Flint had never struck him as the sort to threaten idly.
“Draco?” he called out into the empty room.
At first, he heard nothing, but then there was a soft sound from the direction of the showers, and Blaise hurried towards it. He was expecting Flint struggling with Draco, or a miserable Draco trying to drown himself under one of the shower-heads. What he found wasn’t either. Instead, he found the entire team surrounding Draco.
Derrik and Bole were holding his arms in an obviously too-tight grip to judge from the extreme paleness of Draco’s skin where the fingers of the two older boys were digging into his skin. Pucey, Montague and Bletchley were leaning indolently against the wall, though Bletchely’s bored expression seemed a bit stiffer than the other two. Blaise knew that he was the next newest member of the team. Perhaps he’d been put through something similar once?
Flint didn’t seem pleased to see Blaise there. “What do you want, Zabini? We’re a little busy here,” he growled.
Blaise steeled himself. “I came to get Draco.”
“Draco’s too busy to play at the moment, Zabini.” Derrik and Bole snorted with laughter at that, though Blaise noticed their joviality made them look more sinister rather than less.
“He looks like he’s ready to leave to me,” Blaise responded defiantly. To be perfectly frank, Draco looked paler than the Hogwarts ghosts. Blaise knew he’d be gone in a flash the moment those brutes released him. It was probably the reason they were holding him so tightly. “Let him go.”
“No. Malfoy here has got to pay for losing us the game.”
Arguing with Flint was never a smart idea, so instead, Blaise played the only card he had to help his friend. “Take me instead.”
Flint’s eyes narrowed, but the others had gone utterly silent at the offer. “And how do we know Malfoy won’t run off and tell Professor Snape?”
Blaise’s response was as much a warning to Draco as it was an answer to Flint’s question. “Because he knows that if he did, you’d come after him later.”
Flint thought about that for a moment, then glowered. “Why should you care what we do to him?” After all, the number one rule of Slytherin house was ‘Look out for yourself first.’
“He’s my friend.” Plus, Blaise didn’t care what happened to himself any more, and if he could help Draco, he would. Draco might be a Malfoy, and therefore should have been able to take care of himself, but he’d been pampered and taken care of his entire life, and Blaise knew it. He was still innocent when it came to this sort of thing, and Blaise wanted to do whatever he could to keep him that way for a bit longer. He sure as hell didn’t deserve something like this. No one did.
For a long stretch of time, Blaise was sure that Flint would tell him to get lost, but finally he nodded at Derrik and Bole. “Let him go,” he growled.
When they released Draco’s arms, those familiar grey eyes wide with terror, glanced once at Blaise before they shot to Flint, and then Draco was running from their midst as though a Dementor were chasing him.
Flint snickered and the others followed suit. “Cowardly little pipsqueak, ain’t he? Looks like yellow’d suit him better than green, eh, boys?” He turned back to Blaise. “Well, at least you’re pretty, Zabini,” he smirked. “Come here.” He pointed to the tiled floor right in front of himself.
Blaise steeled himself. This wouldn’t be fun for him, but if he didn’t fight it, it might not be too bad. Might even get over quick. Maybe if he was really lucky, the only one he’d have to deal with was Flint.
He moved to the spot Flint had indicated, then winced when a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and pushed him to his knees. Blaise sank to the tile, unresisting, and was unsurprised when Flint pushed down his Quidditch breeches and pulled out his thick, half-hard cock. “Such a pretty mouth,” he rumbled, his voice low and hoarse, still tinged with amusement. “Show me how well you can use it.”
Blaise leaned forward to take the thing in his hand, hoping that this would be all he’d be expected to do. He didn’t particularly enjoy any sexual act, but at least this one he could control to some extent, and the pain it caused was negligible. Even if he had to do the others as well as Flint, it was still easier than anything else they might want.
He put his lips around the head of the thing, carefully covering his teeth by curling the lips inwards over them. Before he could move his head, though, Flint pushed roughly into his mouth, causing his eyes to water. He automatically pulled back, but Flint’s hand grabbed his hair, holding his head in place. Blaise struggled to keep breathing as Flint began to fuck his mouth.
It seemed forever before Flint pulled away, but that only caused Blaise to panic more. He hadn’t come, and if he hadn’t come that meant that he’d want something else. Something Blaise really didn’t want to deal with. But he’d chosen to be here, so he could hardly back out now.
Flint’s grasp on his hair tightened, and Blaise had to scramble as Flint pulled him over to a nearby bench, then flung him at it. “Get undressed and lie down. Wouldn’t want to tire you too fast,” he said with a grin.
Blaise swallowed as his stomach began to roll at the meaning of Flint’s words. To distract himself, he began to pull off his clothes, his fingers clumsy at the fastenings, worried that if he was too slow, Flint would find a way to punish him for it. Once he was naked, he glanced back at Flint and wished he hadn’t. Flint was now nude from the waist down, and smirking. His cock was fully erect now, and it was all Blaise could do not to be ill from looking at him.
It took time to get his tongue working through his terror. “Did you…want me on my back, or…?” He had to let the question trail off when the rest got caught in his throat.
“Back will do,” Flint answered with a leer. “I’m sure that back of yours is pretty, but it’ll be far more entertaining to watch your face.”
Blaise swallowed, then nodded and lay down on the bench, wishing he had the courage to close his eyes. But the idea of not knowing what would come next was bad enough. If he couldn’t see it coming, that was worse. He just couldn’t stand not having some warning just before. It wouldn’t get this over any faster, but at least it would be something he could control.
Then Flint was there, and there was no more time as he shoved himself into Blaise. Blaise was unable to hold back a whimper, and Flint croaked out a laugh. “Sounds like he’ll need to be silenced, boys. Who wants first go?” He waved a hand at Blaise’s face, and before he could even think of protesting, Montague was shoving his cock into Blaise’s mouth. He wasn’t as thick as Flint, but he wasn’t small, and the angle was one Blaise was completely unused to. He struggled to breathe as Montague relentlessly fucked his mouth while Flint rammed into his arse.
Then Flint was shuddering and pulsing inside him, and Blaise choked for a moment, but Montague kept going, uncaring. Flint pulled out, but there was no respite, as someone who felt nearly as large—likely Derrik or Bole, though Blaise couldn’t see their face, so he couldn’t be sure—pushed into him, picking up where Flint had left off. This one had either been enjoying the show, or had no stamina, as he barely lasted a dozen strokes before he, too, came. Montague followed almost immediately after, but Blaise was too dazed to even think of struggling when Pucey pushed into his arse while Bole took his mouth.
Blaise tried to let himself go lax, just let them use him and get it over with, but each thrust into him had him tensing, and his whimpers were now slipping out around the cock in his mouth. He clenched his nails into the wood of the bench under him, letting the prick of slivers distract him a bit from what was going on, and trying desperately to keep still.
It seemed forever before they were done, but he knew there was still one more to come, and he had to lock his muscles in place to keep from curling into a ball on the bench. He heard them speaking around him, but the meaning of their words didn’t quite penetrate his shock-paralyzed mind.
“Well, go on, Bletchley. Your turn.”
“I’d rather not have an audience, if you all don’t mind.”
“‘N if we do?”
“Then you’ll be disappointed, won’t you? Go get dressed. I’ll deal with him.”
There was no answer to that, but soon there was the sound of footsteps as the others left the shower-room. Blaise would have felt relieved except that Bletchley still hadn’t left.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he couldn’t stop the flinch. “They’re gone,” Bletchley said softly.
“Hand, mouth or arse?” Blaise asked him stiffly, trying not to choke on the words.
There was a long stretch of silence before Blaise finally looked up at Bletchely. He looked down at Blaise, his expression one that suggested he was trying not to be ill. He clenched his jaw and stepped away. “None of the above. Do you need help up?”
Blaise blinked at him, nonplussed, then shook his head carefully and sat up. He managed to get to his feet without stumbling, then wrapped his arms around himself. “What do you want, then?”
“Nothing like that. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He moved to the nearest shower-head and turned it on, testing the spray before turning back to wave Blaise forward. When Blaise eyed it warily, he rolled his eyes. “It’s just water Zabini. It won’t hurt you.”
Blaise glowered at him for a minute, then stepped forward, moving under the spray, though he kept his eyes pinned on Bletchley. The room was silent, but for the hiss of water hitting tile. “Why do you care?” Blaise asked softly.
Bletchley looked annoyed, but he didn’t seem to be directing his anger at Blaise. “No one should have to go through that,” he replied.
Blaise knew then that he must have guessed right earlier. “No one?”
A flash of understanding passed between them. “No one,” Bletchley agreed. There was a long stretch of silence broken only by the splash of water, then Bletchley asked, “How badly did they hurt you?”
Blaise’s eyes dropped to the tile, and he hugged himself. “I’m fine.”
Bletchley stepped closer and caught his chin, raising his face. “I highly doubt that. I was watching, you know. I know exactly how ungentle they were.” He slowly pulled out his wand. “Let me?”
Blaise’s eyes closed, and he bit at his lip, but finally he nodded in agreement. The quick group of silent healing spells relieved the pain the older boys had caused him, fading the bruises left on him from their fingers. It somehow seemed to drain the tension from him as well. He sagged against Bletchley for a moment, then jerked upright, looking up, horrified, at the older boy.
“It’s okay,” Bletchley told him kindly. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t get off on hurting others for fun. Not like them,” he said, his face taking on a hard look obviously directed at Flint and the rest of his team.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Blaise responded quietly. “Slytherins don’t do things unless there’s something in it for them.”
“Yeah, well, I guess helping you means I won’t lose my supper tonight thinking about what they did to you.”
Blaise began washing himself slowly. “Would you even care if you hadn’t been here?”
Bletchley scowled, and this time, Blaise knew it was directed at him. “I know you. You’re one of the better ones in our house. Not just out for yourself, like so many of them. If you were a bit older…”
Blaise snorted. “What? I could have popped them all on the noses? Or perhaps they wouldn’t have bothered, maybe? You and I both know my age makes no difference to that sort.”
“No. But no one your age should have this sort of knowledge, Blaise,” Bletchley said softly. Blaise didn’t know which to respond to first: the statement about his age, or the use of his given name, but Bletchley continued before he could decide. “Have you ever even kissed anyone?”
Blaise stared at him. He was kidding, right? “I’m not…interested in girls,” he answered once he managed to gather himself.
“Never stopped me,” Bletchley said with a shrug.
“You kiss girls, even though you’re not interested in them?”
Bletchley smiled. “Not girls. Boys.”
Blaise felt the heat rise in his cheeks, realizing that he’d assumed wrong. None of the men who’d wanted him had ever tried to kiss him, so he’d assumed that was something men only did with women. “Boys…kiss each other?”
There was no pity on Bletchley’s face when he nodded. “Just as much as guys and girls, really. Just more discreet. That’s what I mean. Whoever did this to you ruined that for you.”
Blaise blanched. “I can’t imagine that kissing is as thrilling as you’re making it out to be,” he sniffed.
“It is. So is the rest, really. I know you’ve had bad experiences with others, but it can be quite nice.”
“Can it? Somehow I doubt that. Why would anyone bother?”
“Obviously people do. Haven’t you ever wondered why?”
“I always assume that they’re simply deluded. I know what it’s like. None of them do.”
“I do. Do you think I’m deluded?”
The yes hovered on the tip of his tongue, but instead what came out was, “Prove you’re not.”
Bletchley tilted his head to the side. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
Blaise wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to see if Bletchley was right. He was surprised that he found himself hoping it was true. “Kiss me.”
Bletchley raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Blaise felt uncomfortable, but he nodded, his stomach doing nervous flips and his brain screaming that he’d just given the other boy permission to hurt him more.
Bletchley stepped closer, and it took everything in Blaise not to run. He was surprised to see that Bletchley looked a bit nervous about this. What on earth did he have to be scared about? Before he could ask, though, there were lips against his.
At first he wanted to laugh. This was the big thing everyone was always waxing lyrical about? Where were the fireworks everyone spoke about? Where were the birds? And then, just as Blaise was about to pull away, Bletchley tilted his head just so, and their lips slid together as though they’d always been meant to fit that way. Blaise gasped as his lips began to tingle, and Miles opened his own, pressing his tongue slowly into Blaise’s mouth, giving Blaise every chance to pull away if he wanted. There was no way Blaise was about to, though. Instead, he found himself pressing closer, his tongue responding eagerly, if clumsily, to Miles’s.
By the time Miles pulled away, Blaise was tingling all over. He whimpered at the loss of Miles’s mouth, opening his eyes and looking up at him. Miles was trying to hold back a smile, but it kept showing through as he looked down at Blaise. “Well?” he asked.
Blaise found himself unsure how to respond. “It…wasn’t what I’d expected,” he said. He could still taste Miles on his lips, and he couldn’t help but want more, if that was what a taste of what everyone was talking about was like. He found himself leaning towards Miles once more. “Can…can we do that again?”
Miles pulled away, moving to the bench and picking up Blaise’s robe, then holding it out to him. “It’s really not a good idea, Blaise. Go find Malfoy and practice on him.”
How dare Miles treat him this way after everything else? “Am I not up to your standards, Bletchley?” he asked with a growl. He crossed the floor and snatched the robe from his hand, pulling it on.
Miles caught his hand when he reached for his trousers. “It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me why?” He was shaking now, though whether it was from rage or from the after-effects of what the others had done to him, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“The two years between fourteen and sixteen are a bigger deal than you might think. I’m not going to be your test-subject. Go find someone your own age to snog. Play around. Be a kid. Forget as much about what all those guys have done to you as you can. Find out what you want.”
He wanted to rage at him for suggesting he was just a kid, but all he said was, “Maybe I just want you.”
“Find out,” Miles repeated. He pulled Blaise close, eyes glinting. “I don’t want you with me because I’m the only person you’ve kissed, Blaise,” he said in a low voice. “I want you to want me.” The low words made Blaise’s eyes go wide and his breath speed up. “I’ll still be here in a year. Two, even. Find out what you want. Then come find me.” He leaned forward, and for a moment, Blaise was sure he was going to get another kiss after all, so he closed his eyes. Instead, he felt Miles’s lips brush his ear. “I’ll be waiting.”
Then there were footsteps, and when Blaise opened his eyes, Miles was gone. Blaise dressed slowly, and decided it was time to get a start on the next two years. Maybe he’d go find Draco. At the very least, he should check on him, and make sure he was okay. And maybe get a quick snog. After all, Draco owed him, now. He smiled and left the Slytherin locker rooms behind, and started back up to the castle.