FIC: Friendship on the Dark Side (1/2) [Blaise/Draco, NC-17]

[kennahijja]

After the recs are out of the way, here's my own entry for hpvalensmut. And in return, I received the rarest of animals, Blaise/Lucius - A Game in Darkness, written by sise5.

Title: Friendship on the Dark Side (1/2)
Pairing: Baise/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning: ambiguous consent, sex under the influence of unsavoury potions, angst
Summary: 'When my father came to the Dark Lord, he brought all the male Slytherins of his year with him. I can do no less.' (set during and after HBP)
Note: Written for prurient_badger in the hpvalensmut Exchange. Hugs & kisses to djin7 and annephoenix for beta-reading on very short notice – I love you both!


Luke would learn soon enough: friendship was different on the dark side. A different thing altogether.
~ Darth Vader in The Return of the Jedi, by James Kahn ~

As far as pranks went, Blaise Zabini mused, this was a good one. Taking the victim down from behind with a Stunning Spell and tying him naked, blindfolded and spread-eagled onto a bed was pretty audacious. If he had executed this little trick himself, he'd now be gloating smugly over his prey. Since he was the victim, however, heads would roll, after a considerable amount of torture first.

Blaise had spent the first half hour of his captivity seething with fury, the second with wild revenge fantasies, and now, halfway into the third, had calmed enough to parade the line of potential culprits in front of his inner eye. At least it was warm. He could hear the crackling of flames in a fireplace, and considering the oppressive heat in the room, it had to be quite small.

Now, who could be responsible for this outrage...

There were the Ravenclaws – Boot and Brocklehurst. Blaise had topped their Ancient Runes scores easily with his special project on Akkadian Cuneiform, and had rubbed it in mercilessly. Ravenclaws were people who took offence at such things. But then they were Ravenclaws, and the sixth years' cute couple from hell, so neither had much to gain by tying him up naked to ogle. Brocklehurst was too restrained, Boot too much under her thumb. Nah, not likely.

Of course, there was always Gryffindor. The Weasley twins and their sidekick Jordan would have pulled something like this for kicks, no provocation necessary, thank you very much. Especially on a Slytherin. But the three bastards had made their exit the year before with varying degrees of spectacularity; and Potter and the younger Weasel, while clinging to their ridiculous 'Slytherins are evil abominations from the deepest pits of hell' agenda, usually needed at least a hint of provocation to strike back. They'd have picked Malfoy, especially after he'd rearranged Potter's face on the train, and even then Blaise seriously doubted they had the combined imagination to pull something like this. They'd resort to hexes or fists. Not to mention that he had exchanged less than ten words with both throughout his school days; the Weasel probably didn't even know whether he was boy or girl.

Though he wouldn't put this prank beyond the girl Weasley and her harem of smitten love slaves - she had an evil streak. If so, Blaise was quite prepared to go easy with the torture on the Weaselette for the sheer quality of that hair alone... But would she do something like this just because she'd caught him looking a few times?

No, he had to admit that this bore the handwriting of Slytherin house. The Nott twins? Well, they were his closest friends, but they had had their differences, especially after he'd dated – and broken up with – Tabby. They might hold a grudge, but would also have turned up by now and turned this into something more interesting for all of them.

No way Millicent would pull a trick like this – she was the most prudish person he knew outside Gryffindor, and would have simply beaten him up had quarrels arisen. Same for Crabbe and Goyle, who settled debts with their fists and were unlikely to make a move without their master's express permission. Pansy? Well...

No. There really was only one...

Blaise had fooled around with Malfoy a little towards the end of fifth year, but Malfoy had shown no interest in picking up from there throughout the autumn. And Blaise would certainly not make the first move. Not as long as rumours that Draco had been initiated into You-Know-Who's service over the holidays were still buzzing all over the school like swarms of Billywigs. No matter how pleasant his skin felt under Blaise's hands, or his tongue curling around Blaise's cock, the fact that Malfoy was a good lay did not make up for getting mixed up in something so stupid.

Another half-hour later, Blaise had given up on discerning the motives of potential suspects. The strained muscles in his arms and legs announced their displeasure at their current position by cramping up somewhat painfully, and Blaise's mouth went increasingly dry with the heat from the fireplace. He swallowed nervously. What if whoever did this was serious? Could you lock someone away and leave them to die of dehydration at Hogwarts? It was Friday afternoon, with no classes 'til Monday, although Slughorn might miss him at his Sunday night gathering. Would Professor Snape come up with a means of detecting him, or Dumbledore, if all else failed? They'd found Montague within two days last year, hadn't they?

When the door finally opened, a note of relief mixed with Blaise's fury. Still, a nervous prickle made the fine hairs on his neck stand up as soft footsteps padded around the bed. It took all of Blaise's famed self-possession to mask his panic underneath his usual expression of haughty superiority. He heard the other's calm breaths, the slight rustle of robes as he moved. The soft pad of a thumb trailed along Blaise's cheekbone, then upwards to hook into the blindfold and tug it off.

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the sudden light, nervousness was eclipsed by a fresh rush of anger when Blaise saw who had turned up.

"If you get me out of these bonds and give me a very good explanation and a very sincere apology right now," he finally announced when his captor just looked down at him with an inscrutable expression that was not quite outright smug, "I might only hex you to within an inch of your life, Malfoy."

Malfoy set the leather case he was holding down on the nightstand and swept his eyes up and down Blaise's bound body. Blaise was Slytherin, so he did not flush. He was, moreover, his mother's son, so he did not display his rage outright apart from the slight clenching of teeth and narrowing of eyes he could not possibly hide. He was also seventeen, which accounted for the tingle of interest in his groin. Which fuelled his anger even more. He'd never had a particular penchant for being restrained, although that instance last year when Malfoy had ambushed him in the Slytherin washroom, trapped him against a sink and proceeded to devour him alive had been... interesting. Somehow, though, Blaise had a feeling that Malfoy’s intentions today were not nearly as pleasant.

"Release you? I don't think I can do that," Malfoy drawled in reply, his eyes still travelling over Blaise's prone form with enough of a smirk to produce a twitch of anger in Blaise's chest, and another one in his cock. And despite the obvious satisfaction on Malfoy's face, there was a wary set to his jaw and a tense, determined line to his mouth that made Blaise's stomach churn. The git did not gloat half as much as Blaise would have if this were his way of reviving their interrupted affair.

"Malfoy!" Blaise growled.

"You see, the Dark Lord has requested your service in his cause," Malfoy continued, without paying attention to Blaise's outrage.

Shit! The stupid bastard had been on a Death Eater recruitment drive for weeks, unable to open his mouth without sinister allusions to the business of the Dark Lord. Though Blaise suspected that this was the greatest length he'd gone to so far to ensure his victims were too tied up to sneak away while he waxed poetically about the benefits of joining the 'Cause'.

"I told you again and again I want nothing to do with that madness – what does it take to get through your thick skull, a Hippogriff attack?" Blaise snapped. "And you can forget the kinky Knockturn magazine style of persuasion, Malfoy – you're not good enough of a lay to make me change my mind."

Malfoy leaned in closer and put one hand on Blaise's breastbone with just enough pressure to hurt. A touch of pink coloured his pale cheeks.

"I knew you were going to be obstinate about it – it's your own fault that I'll have to resort to more dire measures."

He pulled his wand from his robes and Blaise swallowed involuntarily. "Using Imperius at Hogwarts will mean a one-way ticket to Azkaban, you dumb git."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched for a moment, although it didn't quite defuse his dark scowl. He tapped his wand to the leather case he'd brought, and the locks snapped open with a dull click.

"That's why I've been working on something a little more... advanced... over the holidays," he announced.

The Potions kit – a reward for his OWL results last year which Malfoy had proudly paraded around the common room – held three containers: two small crystal phials, a larger jar of pristine enamel practically glowing with the power of the substance inside it, and a small pipette.

Blaise swallowed again, drops of nervous sweat forming on his forehead. Malfoy had talent when it came to potions, unlike Potter, who had certainly been bewitching Slughorn to favour him this year. Whatever Malfoy had concocted hoping to influence Blaise's mind, it would be potent and most likely dangerous.

"You stay away from me with that stuff, whatever it is, you mad bugger," Blaise swore.

"When my father came to the Dark Lord, he brought all the male Slytherins of his year with him," Malfoy said, the obsessed little fucker. "I can do no less."

Although Blaise registered what that said about Crabbe, Goyle and Theo Nott, it did not surprise him much. At times, he'd almost felt like an outsider, not being from a Death Eater family.

"You don't really think you can drug me into becoming a Death Eater?" Blaise shook his head with as much haughty contempt as he could muster naked and tied up. "There's no such thing as an Imperius Potion – you heard Mudblood Granger's stupid question in potions class last week."

"It's Coeurs d'Amoranth," Malfoy replied with a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride.

"What?" Blaise yelled, struggling against his restraints. He'd seen the recipe, of course. Malfoy had gushed over the tome with elusive – and highly illegal! – love and lust potions in Blaise's mother's own private library the summer before last, when he'd come to stay for a week in the Zabini's Venetian summer house - one of the few reminders of Odette Zabini's short, stormy marriage to Blaise's father. "Are you bloody nuts?"

If even one component of that set of potions was misapplied, the victim would be lucky if he only ended up poisoned. Dead would be more likely. And you couldn't just walk into an apothecary's and ask for the ingredients – it had to be brewed by the one who was going to use it, involving all kinds of intimate bodily fluids... The directions had taken up four parchment pages, and it wasn't just a 'recipe' – it contained all sorts of puzzles and riddle verses as to ingredients and measurements. Not to mention that even if it was brewed correctly, Blaise would rather stick his arm into boiling dragon's blood than go through the humiliating application process, and die rather than suffer the effects. A lifetime of slavery and sexual obsession was not part of his plans for the future.

"You can't brew something like that, you're just a child!" Blaise snapped, struggling for control because Malfoy might just be winding him up after all, and he'd never live it down if he gave in to panic now. "And if you try to put that on me, you'll go to Azkaban just as fast as for Imperius!"

"Not if you're unable to tell anyone," Malfoy argued obstinately.

"I'll most likely end up poisoned speechless because you can't brew worth shite. Do you think Snape will cover up for you then?"

"Yes."

Malfoy sounded certain in a way that made Blaise's nerves twinge. He looked far too pale and determined.

So Malfoy's estrangement from Snape had been an act... Blaise had wondered about that. A considerable degree of Malfoy's status in Slytherin had always rested on the fact that everybody knew their head of house would stand up for young Draco no matter what. When Slughorn had taken to favouring Blaise and others over him, Blaise had expected him to bind himself even closer to Snape. To antagonise him like Malfoy had done all year was just plain stupid. But if they were in this together - if Snape had helped with the potion...

"Look," he said, pitching his voice a little more softly, "I don't think you really want to do this. Just take these bloody spellcords off me and we'll forget about it – no hard feelings."

"No," Malfoy replied curtly. "But I'll give you a chance, Zabini. You make me an Unbreakable Vow to take the Mark and serve the Dark Lord as well as you can, and I'll let you go."

"You're mad!" Blaise yelled, pulling at the magical cords – to no avail. "I'd die if I break that!"

"That's the point, you bloody idiot!" the git snapped, his face white and pinched, which increased the pointiness of his chin. "Do you have any idea what'll happen if the Dark Lord approaches you and you tell him 'no'?" Blaise blinked at the honest panic in Malfoy's voice. "They'll come and pay you a visit, just because you're as well-connected as Slughorn says, and you have no idea what they'll do to you!" He grabbed the jar out of the potions kit and plopped it down next to Blaise's head. "Swear, or it's this!"

Dread gnawed at Blaise's stomach walls, his thoughts whirling madly in his head. If he made a Vow to Malfoy, there would be no escape. But perhaps Malfoy was just bluffing to terrorise Blaise into it... that would certainly be his style. And even if not... Malfoy might have messed up the brewing. The potion's compulsion could perhaps be fought against. And Blaise's own mother was an authority on those things...

"No, you mad little shite, I will not swear anything to you!" he spat at the pale-haired bastard.

Malfoy glared down at him as if he'd love to incinerate Blaise on the spot, and picked up the jar. He unscrewed the lid, exposing an oily, cinnamon-coloured liquid. It looked harmless and smelled pleasantly of sweet nuts with a strong herbal undercurrent.

It suddenly occurred to Blaise that the little bastard had skilfully played the disbeliever when Slughorn had emphasised the power of love potions in class, just to make sure no one would point a finger at him should Blaise show suspicious symptoms!

Blaise tensed all his muscles at once, then threw himself towards the container, using every bit of leeway he had. It wasn't much, and Malfoy snatched the jar away before Blaise could knock it off the bed with his shoulder. Blaise bit his lip. Pulling on the cords hurt like bloody hell. His wrists were rubbed bloody and his shoulder near-dislocated.

"You're right." Malfoy sneered evilly down at him, clearly enjoying Blaise's helplessness. "The draught comes first, of course."

He picked the larger of the two phials out of the case, and uncorked it. Blaise resolved to head-butt him should he come within reach, bloody Muggle way of fighting or not. But the bastard seemed to be reading his mind; he took the phial firmly in one hand and grabbed Blaise's hair with the other, holding his head harshly down against the pillow. Blaise resolutely clamped his mouth shut, glaring poisoned daggers, which seemed only to amuse the little blond shite.

"Vacuos!" Malfoy said pleasantly, and Blaise felt an invisible wad appearing in his nostrils, closing off his air supply.

He frantically tried to suck in air through the magical obstruction and failed. Panic tugged at him as the pressure in his chest increased. The urge to open his mouth was overwhelming; he wanted to give in, but the sight of the small crystal bottle hovering over his face held him back. He pulled on the cords again, knowing full well he was fighting a losing battle, his whole body a twisted scream for air. Then his lips parted and a strong, spicy fluid trickled onto his tongue.

He was too busy gulping in air to notice the effect of the brew, almost doubling up coughing until his eyes watered as a few drops slid towards his windpipe. Tears stung his eyes, but Malfoy stroked his throat with gentle fingers, murmuring a spell that had Blaise swallowing three times in quick succession. Blaise's cheeks burned, and once again he was grateful for his dark complexion – if Malfoy went through the same treatment, he'd look as red and agitated as a squalling newborn. Sometimes there was comfort even in small dignities.

Blaise could feel the potion now, burning from his throat into his stomach; not unlike Firewhisky, but with a strong herbal component and the telltale pepperish-sharp chalkiness of powdered Ashwinder eggs. Fuck! This might be Coeurs d'Amoranth after all - Ashwinder eggs were a standard ingredient in love potions.

The burn in his stomach sent a wave of heat through his body. Blaise's skin went warm all over, and when the heat spilled back into his brain, it left him drowsy; his eyelids were sticky and wanted to fall shut. He felt Malfoy's fingers blissfully cool on the damp skin of his throat, and craned his head back for more.

"Damn you!" he swore as soon as he noticed, mumbling around a tongue that suddenly seemed puffy.

He could see the obstinate tilt of Draco's chin, an expression torn between fascination and determination, blending with a dash of regret as if to create yet another exotic potion.

Malfoy lifted the second phial out of his potions case and put it to his own lips. Blaise admired the graceful curve of his throat as he swallowed, the room behind the other boy alternately blurring and magnifying into almost painfully sharp focus. The man-high wooden cabinet which took up the whole corner of the small room looked as if it was swaying.

Blaise's fuzzy mind recalled the purpose of the second potion from the recipe they'd studied – an antidote to the binding oil that was used on the victim. Malfoy shuddered as he downed the fluid, then picked up the jar with the oil again. He hesitated for a tell-tale moment before pouring a drizzle onto his palm, which told Blaise that he wasn't entirely confident about the results of his brewing.

And yet the screams and the hiss of burning flesh Blaise had hoped for did not come. Instead, Malfoy's palm tentatively swept over the side of Blaise's stomach, the potion slick and terribly... immediate, as if Blaise's skin was gone and it was trickling over raw flesh. The smell clung to his nostrils – nutty and sweet and impossible to ignore. It tingled where it touched skin, spreading out in a surge of warmth that correlated with the potion Malfoy had forced down Blaise's throat. His prick responded with a twitch of interest.

The Amoranth oil assaulted his nerves and his senses both, radiating warmth, humming with the promise of pleasure, heralding comfort and belonging. Blaise's breathing deepened. His muscles were unknotting slowly, his arms relaxing against his bonds as Malfoy gave another tentative rub over his stomach, then found his confidence in a hearty stroke along Blaise's hip. He peered into Blaise's face from underneath the curtain of pale hair that fell into his eyes, as if probing for adverse reactions. Blaise glared back to the best of his abilities, even though he was so comfortable that all he wanted was to drift off into a daze under the glistening fingers.

"I won't hurt you," Malfoy promised huskily, and Blaise was too drowsy to curse him out loud. 'You'll just rape me and enslave me for life', he thought weakly, the thought a cold splash in the sea of tranquillity that lapped around him.

But it was impossible not to react as Malfoy slid his hands over Blaise's body, smoothing the aromatic oil along the curve of Blaise's hip, short manicured nails scraping the base of his cock for the fleeting instance it took for it to go from interested to near-hardness. A shiver of pleasure wound itself up around Blaise's spine. He shifted, unconsciously rising to meet Malfoy's hands, and bit his tongue to stifle a moan.

It was the most thorough way Blaise had ever been touched in his life – a requirement of the potion, no doubt, and painfully arousing. Draco's hands massaged his thighs, seeming to take pleasure in tracing the tender skin on the insides over and over. They found the backs of his knees, his calves, the sensitive undersides of Blaise's feet. Each toe, and the hollows in between, were carefully anointed with oil until Blaise's legs felt heavy and tingly and cocooned in warmth. An inarticulate noise escaped his lips as the fingers trundled up again, brushing only the most feathery of touches along the side of his prick on their way back to his upper body. Blaise shut his eyes, yet could still see Malfoy's smug expression.

Sides, throat and stomach soon fell prey to the same insistent treatment as his legs and feet. When the slick fingers caught at Blaise's nipples, the touch tore a sound out of him that even the most apologetic observer would not be able to describe as anything but a whimper. The oily fluid and the fleeting scrape of Malfoy's nails fired up his nerves and made the dark nubs harden to the point of pain. Malfoy, insufferable bastard that he was, pinched first one, then the other, and Blaise nearly came of off the bed as the brilliant sting sent a spike of lust into his heavying prick as if there was a single nerve connecting them.

"Told you you'd like it," Malfoy mumbled and smoothed his thumb along Blaise's lower lip as he snarled.

Blaise felt Malfoy stroke his throat, his cheeks, the sensitive shells of his ears, and finally his closed eyelids, leaving behind a warmth Blaise could only drown in. Although he knew that the oil improved its effect with every bit of skin it was spread on, Blaise still wailed inwardly as Malfoy's hands left his body – it was almost unbearable, losing his touch.

Then he screeched out loud as Malfoy's fingers wrapped around his cock without warning, slippery with oil and almost painfully hot against his aroused flesh. Blaise's whole body shuddered, trying not the thrust his hips into that firm grip and failing miserably. He felt as if his skull was just about to break apart into bony fragments.

He fought madly against his bonds until the pain of it almost registered through the sheer force of want that had gripped his body; the urge to claw at something was overwhelming.

"Shhh," Malfoy hushed him gently, and miraculously his voice alone soothed a little of the urgency. Blaise sobbed, panic ringing in his ears as he recognised of the workings of the potion in his pliable response. And yet he squirmed in delight as Malfoy drizzled more oil onto his prick, slicking the light veins at the underside, rubbing potion over the base until the rough hairs there were plastered to Blaise's heated skin. Then Malfoy's attention turned to the head after yet another detour into the potions jar, tugging down Blaise's foreskin and laving the spongy head over and over again.

Blaise peered up out of half-closed lids, and the sight of Malfoy bowed with single-minded determination over Blaise's prick, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, was almost enough to send him over the edge. Blaise's cock looked shockingly dark against Draco's pale fingers. More potion was spread over his balls, which drew taut at the touch and started to tense, then along the tender skin behind them. Tiny sparks exploded behind Blaise's eyes, and he stabbed his hips upward.

"Going to-!" he hissed, although Malfoy certainly did not deserve a warning. But the little shite just wrapped his fingers around the base of Blaise's cock until it almost hurt, and snapped, "No! We'll test how this is working, shall we?" And then, when Blaise just bared his teeth at him, he loosened his death grip on Blaise's prick and murmured, "You'll come when I allow it, Zabini – no sooner!"

Blaise deepened his snarl and thrust his hips into Malfoy's grip, determined to have his own way. But even though he was so hard it hurt and could feel the trickle of precome down his length, he could not drive himself over the edge. It was painful and frustrating and he found himself near true tears for the first time this infernal evening. Malfoy shushed him again almost gently.

Then he reached down to fetch the antique-looking pipette out of the open potions case, dipping it lightly into the jar and squeezing the rubber ball at the end to let it suck in a few drops of potion. Blaise squirmed uneasily as Malfoy's grip on his cock tightened again, not painful, but firm. Malfoy twisted his hips until he crouched halfway over Blaise's thighs, pressing him down into the mattress. When the pipette touched the head of Blaise's over-heated cock, a knot swelled in Blaise's throat and an inarticulate sound of panic escaped his lips. Malfoy petted his thigh soothingly, eyes fixed on the tip of Blaise's prick in almost sick fascination. When the cool glass tip touched the slit, Blaise hissed in fear, jerking and trying to pull away without having any leeway to escape. The light intrusion burned, but did not quite hurt – yet. If Malfoy forced it in, though... Blaise felt something wet trickle down the side of his face, realising with a detached, almost horrified clarity that it was a tear.

Malfoy leaned down and pressed his lips to the damp track on his temple. "Calm down... I won't hurt you."

A slight twist of the pipette slipped it a centimetre or two down Blaise's slit, and sent a burning jolt through him. Not hurt me, my arse! he thought viciously. Malfoy chuckled, but did not push the thing in any further. Instead, he squeezed the rubber top again, and Blaise felt the fluid spill into the insides of his cock, burning hot in a way that made goose bumps break out all over his arms and legs. He groaned. Oh, it did hurt, but at the same time aroused him more than anything else he'd experienced so far. As soon as Malfoy seemed to consider Blaise's prick sufficiently soaked inside, he pulled the pipette out and left it to bob against Blaise's belly. The little sting was almost obscured by the delicious heat the potion left behind. By then, Blaise hardly minded.

Blaise watched Malfoy shrug out of his robe and shirt, eyes running over too-visible ribs like the daggers he wished he could stab into that body. Malfoy's skin was almost pasty; blue veins were visible where the fire shine did not reach to bestow a rosy shimmer. Blaise, who had come to know said body reasonably well over the past year, from the small pink nipples right down to what lay hidden below the waistband of Malfoy's trousers, couldn't help but observe that he looked nervously thin, almost ill. Surely it couldn't just be grief over his father's imprisonment, and his failure to endear Blaise to the so-called delights of the Dark Lord's service...

When Malfoy slipped out of the sleeves, Blaise saw the ugly black blot marring the otherwise flawless skin on his arm, and couldn't help but snarl. Of all the abysmally stupid things the little shite had done over the years, this had to be by far the dumbest!

Malfoy pointedly ignored his grimace, although a bit of colour appeared in his cheeks. He flicked his wand, and Blaise felt a slight tug at his ankles when the spelled cords dissolved. Although his conscious mind yelped at him to kick out at his tormentor, all he managed was a weak wriggle. The cords around his wrists loosened too, not disappearing but leaving him more space to move. And yet he went quite willingly when Malfoy put a hand on his side and urged him onto his belly. His wrists crossed above his head, the strings pulling taut again, and Blaise whimpered uncontrollably when his cock rubbed against the coverlet, undoubtedly leaving a smear. Then he whined again as his own body weight pressed it down into the soft fabric, trapping it against his belly.

Malfoy's fingers skipped along his vertebrae before slicking his back, neck and legs with the same diligence he'd paid his front. Malfoy brushed the longish hair at Blaise's nape aside to rub oil into the back of his neck; Blaise shuddered right down to his toes when the roving fingertips touched the tender skin behind his ears.

When Malfoy took to kneading Blaise's arse cheeks, the rough squeezes went straight to Blaise's aching prick and nearly forced another whine from his throat. He shifted desperately, pressing up into Malfoy's hands, begging for more contact. It was terrible and stuffy with half his face buried in the bedclothes, sweaty and potion-slicked and the quintessence of desperate, but he wanted Malfoy's hands on him more than anything he had ever longed for.

And yet his breaths came short and harsh when Malfoy's fingers found his cleft; he knew the completion of Coeurs d'Amoranth called for the full carnal possession of the victim. And as much as he'd fooled around with boys – Malfoy, Boot, snappy little Smith from Hufflepuff – he'd never gone this far. Had even thrown a well-aimed Reductor Curse at Derek Bole when he'd not taken 'No!' for an answer. And still he found himself spreading his thighs against the duvet when Malfoy probed his arse with a potion-slick finger. It wasn't pleasant in itself, more like being poked with a bendy stick, but the potion seemed to pour sensual awareness into every nerve end. His buttocks tingled, and every slide of Malfoy's hand along the tightly puckered hole sent spikes of want up his spine. He relaxed his muscles even more to welcome the finger, the now-familiar heat of the oil coating the insides of his channel flaring with every breath he took. Moaning, he lifted his hips to let Malfoy slide deeper.

He heard the bastard chuckle behind him, felt the warm touch of his lips against the bumps of his spine, and nearly protested when those delicious fingers were withdrawn and cloth rustled as Malfoy struggled out of his trousers and underclothes. Blaise kept his face pressed into the duvet, eyes determinedly shut, but his inner eye supplied the image of Draco's nakedness: pale skin flushed in the firelight, a pretty prick that slightly crooked to the left, small, tight bollocks... He'd never been handsome, Malfoy, but all those angles and his tightly-wound attitude had made him interesting. Not to mention his standing in Slytherin House, and his powerful family. And now Blaise wanted nothing more than Malfoy's hands all over him, his prick hard and inside him, and that pale skin singing against his own. There went his Slytherin pride, draining away with every touch.

He complied willingly as Malfoy tugged his hips up, hissing as his cock lost contact with the bed and strained awkwardly towards his belly. Even the sudden rush of air against its over-sensitive flesh stung. He heard Malfoy's summoning charm, then sank down onto the fat pillow that was shoved under his hips. His cock sought to spurt at the sensation of being pressed into soft down and crisp linen, but couldn't. For an instant, white noise nearly blanked out his consciousness.

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" he finally managed to grind out between bitten lips, hips humping against the pillow to no avail.

"Not quite," Malfoy chuckled into his ear as he settled down on Blaise's hips, fingernails trailing ever-so-slightly down his back until Blaise's prick wanted to burrow right through the bedclothes. "You want this, don't you?" Malfoy snarled into Blaise's neck in a way that sent shivers down his back. Blaise lay prostrate on his knees with his arse stuck in the air, cheek resting against his bound arms, and his wrists folded before him like the sacrificial worshipper of a very dark deity.

"Yes," he hissed at last, when all he could feel was Malfoy's prick laid along his cleft, lovely, but not quite there, and not likely to move unless the bastard had his acknowledgement.

"Then beg for it!" Malfoy hissed right back. Blaise knew his nemesis was trying to test the effects of the Amoranth and was on a heady power trip to boot. There had always been this element of power play in their fooling around: getting the other to beg, to lose control, or to do something the other wouldn't. Now Malfoy could indulge in the upper hand.

And yet the sheer need was maddening and Blaise found himself grinding his arse back against Malfoy's prick.

"Please fuck me, Malfoy!" he ground out, burning cheek pressed into his forearms. He could feel his shoulder muscles tremble from the strain.

"Yes!" Malfoy moaned, almost sibilant. And then Blaise felt possessive hands at his hips, pushing his legs up and apart until the blunt head of Malfoy's prick poked at his entrance.

Although he'd never gone this far before, and his mind was terrified of the act itself as much as of its implications, Blaise's nerve ends were a tangled mass of need and his traitorous body put up not the tiniest bit of resistance as Malfoy pushed in slowly. He'd expected pain, but all that made it through the heat inside and outside his body was the delicious feeling of being filled, as if Malfoy was taking possession of his soul. It felt infinitely better than even Malfoy's mouth around his prick ever had. With the strange, distant voice of clarity the Amoranth allowed him, Blaise wondered if it was really Malfoy's skill, or whether it was just the potion that made his entry so exquisite. They had both fumbled around with mouth and hands like most teenagers last year, but Malfoy might have some real experience – perhaps at one point his father had gifted him with a captured Muggle for use... His kind might still find that acceptable.

Blaise could only shudder helplessly under Malfoy's body, as if filled up with something precious, invaluable, the heat and pressure just right, and a delicious knife-edge of pain that skipped up his spine. He knew that Draco's prick was just average, and yet it felt as if its tip was lodged right under Blaise's breastbone where it clogged up his breathing. He was claimed, possessed, while the burning strokes of Malfoy's cock made his insides sing. And when it brushed something deep and sensitive inside him, Blaise tugged at his bonds and bit down on the soggy corner of the pillow in order not to scream, his brain a muddle of 'oh, please!'

Malfoy rocked him with steady thrusts. The only thing that betrayed his effort to keep calm were the nails he dug claw-like into the flesh of Blaise's hips. Blaise began to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling his hips upward again and again, desperate for release and only too aware that there would be none before Malfoy was done with him. His prick chafed, a burning, painful thing against the pillow, precome sliming up the sheets, but despite the intense friction he remained unable to come.

Although Malfoy must have wrestled for control to get this... travesty... right, he was still a teenager, and finally, after a few more clumsy thrusts, Blaise felt the full force of his nails once more before the little bastard gave a wheezy groan and spilled deep inside him. He clung, shuddering, to Blaise's back during the aftershocks, his skin sticky against Blaise's arse and back, as if to make sure that every drop reached and affected its intended goal.

And Blaise's shoulder blades rolled back of their own volition, snuggling as close as he could. Malfoy rested atop him, face averted so that only his fine hair tickled the side of Blaise's neck, his breaths softly wheezing his contentment into the pillows. The rough scar tissue of the Dark Mark rubbed against Blaise's left shoulder. Blaise could almost feel his conqueror's pleasure whispering to him through the skin contact. It took long moments before Malfoy seemed to get enough strength back to rise onto his knees and to take hold of Blaise's hips again to pull out. The sound was more than obscene, but it was the renewed slide of Malfoy's prick inside him, slick with come and far less pronounced than when he'd been at full hardness, that teased the sensitive nerves of Blaise's opening.

Blaise's own cock, a heavy and aching weight pressed mercilessly into the pillow, leapt at those slides, feeling as if it had been skinned down to raw nerves. Blaise nearly screamed when Malfoy rolled him onto his back again, his swollen cock scraping against the coverlet followed by a sudden lack of pressure and a gush of chilly air. His mind registered the wet patch under his left buttock where Malfoy had forgot to cast a cleaning spell on the sheets, but his body, aching for release, failed to be discomfited.

"You liked this, didn't you?" Malfoy was leaning above him, a smug expression plastered onto a face that was rather unfetchingly red and sweaty. And yet it was one of the most beautiful sights Blaise had ever seen.

"Yes," he confessed, and admission turned into a needy whimper when Malfoy's long fingers stroked the underside of Blaise's cock, which lay almost flat on his belly, precome a sticky trail on his skin. The fingers teased at his taut balls as Malfoy leaned down, his mouth almost touching Blaise's own as if he was angling for a kiss.

"Yes," he repeated as if there could've been no other answer. "And you want to come rather badly too, right?"

It took a few moments in which Blaise could do nothing but writhe under the stimulation of Malfoy's fingertips playing on the still-tender head of his cock, mixing precome and potion into a mind-burning combination, before Blaise managed to strangle a desperate "Please!" into a feeble whimper. His chest felt tight, his blood nearly boiling in his veins, and he just knew that his heart would give out if release was denied him much longer.

"Mine for good now, aren't you, Zabini?" It was hard to actually hear Malfoy through the roar in Blaise's ears, but he felt the words as if they were whispering directly inside his bloodstream.

And there was no denying the truth, and even if he'd wanted to, Blaise's lips took away his initiative. "Yours, Malfoy... Draco... just please, please..." The world swam and trembled and Blaise couldn't tell whether it was because the potion was inviting reality to dance, or because of the tears clinging to his eyelashes.

Malfoy's mouth pressed against his then, teeth clicking almost brutally against Blaise's own. He allowed access to Malfoy's insistent tongue, which went about devouring Blaise's mouth like a Jarvey feeding on a nest of newborn gnomes. Blaise tasted the bitter tang of the potion Malfoy had downed to protect himself from the charmed oil, and it stung against Blaise's gums.

"Alright, then," Malfoy breathed when he'd finished plundering Blaise's mouth, one hand still wrapped determinedly around Blaise's cock, thumb nail toying with the slit. "I give you permission, Zabini - come for me now!"

For an instant, Blaise felt as if the hot, leaden pressure in his balls was permanent, as if the Amoranth had been faulty after all and he'd be unable to find release until he died of it. He moaned, thrashing weakly under Malfoy's hands. Then a great shudder travelled through him, almost bone-deep, and his cock felt so raw, inside and out, that it hurt. Blaise cried out, arching up against Malfoy and burying his face against Malfoy's neck as if that would somehow make it better. Then the force of release snapped through him and his prick began to spurt, gushing in a hot stream over Blaise's belly and Malfoy's hand and his hip where he leaned against Blaise's body.

White light tore through Blaise's mind, incinerating his spine and for a moment of sheer bliss whiting out his vision altogether as he clutched at Malfoy's sweaty skin and came. Those clever fingers kept stroking his cock gently, wringing every bit of come out of the tender organ until it had nothing left to give and the rubbing became almost painful.

Blaise winced against Malfoy's shoulder as the touches held him back from the lapping waves of languor his body wanted to sink into, but kept himself limp and pliant without a sound of complaint until Malfoy had stroked his fill. At last Malfoy caught a few drops of come and brought his fingers to Blaise's mouth, whose lips parted, immediately sensing what was expected of him. He tasted his own bitter-bland fluid on his tongue as Malfoy hissed, "Mine!"

"Yours," Blaise vowed, muffled around Malfoy's fingers and with utmost sincerity even as the insides of his chest seemed to shrivel at the thought.

"Don't talk about the Amoranth to anyone," Malfoy whispered softly, eyes boring into Blaise's face as if he wanted to discern the workings of his poison on the brain below. "No hints either. And don't even try to look for an antidote." He slipped off the bed, gathering up his potion containers and banging them back into the kit with more force than necessary. "Just... be there whenever I call you, and do exactly as you're told."

Blaise nodded, his insides giving a painful tug at the mere thought of refusing.

"Good!" Malfoy snapped irritably, as if he had reason to be unhappy or was the one who was suffering. A wand flick, and the bonds were gone from Blaise's arms. "And you will take the Unbreakable Vow now, won't you?"

Blaise squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. A barbed knot was forming in his guts and he half doubled over as something that felt like a rigid metal wire stabbed through his abused cock. "Yes, Draco," he whispered, knowing that the potion would force him into compliance in the end.

"Get on your knees, then."

Blaise obeyed, wincing at his aching muscles now that the relaxing properties of the oil were wearing off. Crumpled sheets were tangling around his left foot. He kept his head bowed because he couldn't bear to see Malfoy gloating, and wordlessly held out his hand.

But Malfoy only chuckled and lifted it to his lips for a moment in a gesture that nearly made Blaise's insides melt. "It's all right – I was only testing to see whether the Amoranth is really working." His mouth curved down in an uncanny resemblance to his father's expression at its most disdainful. "You can't take an Unbreakable Vow when your will isn't your own. Mother taught me that."

He motioned for Blaise to lie back down, then grabbed the corner of the rumpled coverlet and threw it over Blaise's lower body.

"Sleep off the effects of the potion – I'll make sure you won't be missed. And don't shower 'til tomorrow morning." Yes, the potion probably needed time to settle – to soak Blaise's willpower out of him entirely.

Malfoy dressed with quick, jerky movements, cleaning come off his skin with his wand while Blaise burrowed deeper under the covers. The cool linen felt chilly against his heated skin, echoing the spot inside of him that the Amoranth – and Malfoy – had not yet managed to reach. He didn't take his eyes off Draco's angry face.

"What?" Malfoy finally snarled. "I gave you a choice. More than one, all year long. You forced my hand!"

Blaise's mouth twisted. He could feel Draco's desire to be absolved, a gnawing ache in his stomach and groin that left him with the urge to fall to his knees and beg for more of that touch around his cock even as it chafed at the thought. He trembled under the covers, mortified at the tears that were again brimming in his eyes.

"We were housemates-" he ground out at last. Not friends, not lovers certainly, but... "-bedmates. I thought you might care enough not to destroy my whole life!" The tears shamed his face now, the struggle between wanting to please and the need to lash out building up to a squirming pain too agonising to be borne stoically.

Malfoy rounded on him, a study in fury, and it was all Blaise could do not to throw himself to the ground and beg.

"If I wouldn't care..." Malfoy's hand messed up his hair in an agitated gesture that reminded Blaise, irrationally, of Harry Potter. "I went through all this trouble to save your bloody life!"

The anger radiating from his voice and posture silenced any retort Blaise might have been forming; it coursed over his skin like acid. He didn't doubt that the boy had convinced himself of being right – Blaise just failed to agree, deep down where he still was able object.

"Shut up and go to sleep!" Malfoy repeated, still shaking, and the last thing Blaise saw before he obediently gave himself over to the dark hands of oblivion was Malfoy's sharp-cut silhouette in the doorway.

~ Continued in Part 2 ~