A practice of Sebastian's and Annie's side profiles. I wasn't planning on doing anything major, but I still wanted it to look finished.
The text is from the song "Đ ŃСнŃ"(Various) by Quest pistols. I don't think that the whole lyrics really fit the duo, except the chorus more or less. I just need something to fill out the empty space. ((There are songs that fit them better, but I plan on doing separate pieces for them.ďźÂ´âď˝''ďź))
ADDITIONAL TAGS: Hogsmeade, Winter, Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks, Hogwarts Era, Sensory Overload, Jealous Ominis Gaunt, Sneaky Sebastian Sallow, Public to Private, Alleyway Kissing, Hotel Room, Fluff and Smut, Sneaking Around
WORDS: ~2,1K
Ao3
The cold air of Hogsmeade smelled of wood, sweets from Honeydukes, and warm butterbeer. Laughter, Christmas bells, and a street musician all blurred together into one melody. For Ominis, the entire noisy, bustling world of the wizarding village had narrowed once again to a single person. To Sebastian, who had slung a friendly arm around Ominisâs shoulders and was steering him through the village, talking without pause.
ââŚHoneydukes firstâI want to get some liquorice sticks and a few Chocolate Frogs. Oh, and Weasley asked me to grab him some Bertie Bottâs.â
âWhy canât he buy them himself?â A sudden, sharp pang of jealousy pricked Ominis beneath the ribs.
âSharpâs put our favourite amateur alchemist on detention again, so the poor sod is currently cleaning the tongue of some Dugbogs,â Sebastian grimaced. âSo, Honeydukes first, then Broomsticks, yeah?â
âFine,â Ominis muttered.
They stepped inside, and Ominisâs world shifted: the aromas of a dozen different sweets hit him all at once, and his head swam from the overload. Chocolate, honey, cinnamonâit all blended into a muddle in his mind.
âAre you all right?â Sebastian asked, reading the discomfort on Ominisâs face.
âYes, I just⌠give me a moment. Too many smells.â
âRight, meet you by the door,â Sebastian nodded and headed deeper into the shop.
Ominis stood at the entrance for a moment, letting himself adjust to the atmosphere of the little shop, then raised his wand and focused. The outlines of objects and people around him took shape, enough to navigate by. He picked out sugar quills, Fizzing Whizzbees, and an assortment of flavoured chocolate bars.
Five minutes later he was back outside on the frosty street with Sebastian.
âBroomsticks?â Ominis asked, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head.
âIâve got a better idea.â
Sebastian caught him by the sleeve and steered him off the main street and into a dark, snow-filled alley.
âSebastian, where are you dragging me?â Ominis hissed, tucking his face deeper into his warm green-and-silver scarf. His wand hummed softly in his hand, warning him of a solid wall ahead. âThereâs a dead end. And if youâve got it into your head to test some âperfectly safeâ Exploding Powder from Zonkoâs on me again, I will hex you right here.â
âOmi, have a little faith,â Sebastianâs voice carried that same roguish, scheming grin that never failed to make Ominisâs knees feel unreliable. âNothing from Zonkoâs. Just you, me, and a bit of the privacy weâve been sorely lacking at Hogwarts all week.â
They stopped behind the corner of an old, abandoned warehouse, well out of sight of professors and curious first-years. The wind barely reached them here, but the frost still bit at their cheeks. Ominis heard Sebastian exhale heavily, and felt the warmth of his breath against his face.
The next moment Sebastian stepped forward and pressed Ominis back against the cold, rough stone wall. Ominis startled but didnât pull away. The wand lowered in his fingers.
âSebastian⌠someone might see us,â the blond said helplessly, though his heart was already racing.
âNo one will,â Sebastian took Ominisâs frozen fingers and laced them through his own, lifting them to his lips and warming them with his breath. âThereâs no one here. Just us and the snow.â
After the warmth of his breath came Sebastianâs lips against his cheek, moving slowly, maddeningly unhurried, down towards his jaw. Ominis tipped his head back against the stone, closed his eyes, and swore quietly to himself. Sallow was operating like a seasoned poacherâluring his quarry in gently, then taking everything down to the last breath.
Sebastianâs warm palm slid purposefully beneath Ominisâs cloak, working through the layers of winter clothing to reach his waist, burning even through his shirt. Ominis felt his skin prickleânot from the cold, but from that commanding, almost hungry touch. Sebastian leant forward, using his entire body to pin Ominis in place, shielding him from the winter wind and carving out their own private space in the middle of noisy Hogsmeade.
âYou drive me absolutely mad, love,â Sebastian whispered against his lips, and Ominis finally broke, surging forward into the kiss himself.
This kiss in the frost was nothing like their hurried ones in the boysâ dormitory, in the corridor of the dungeons, or in the broom cupboards. It was scorching, almost desperate, tasting of the peppermint sweet Sebastian had managed to pocket in Honeydukes, and sharp with adrenaline. Sebastian kissed him hungrily, stealing the breath from his lungs, while his free hand pressed Ominis harder into the cold stone of the building, as though trying to hide him from the entire world in this snow-filled alley. Ominis dissolved entirely into the sensations: the roughness of the wall at his back, Sebastianâs hot tongue, the cold snowflakes beginning to land on his face, and soft hair beneath his fingers.
Then the quiet of the alley was torn apart by a deafening, whistling sound that exploded directly overhead in a thunderous crack.
Sebastian flinched under Ominisâs palms and wrenched back sharply, narrowly avoiding cracking his head against the wall. Ominisâs wand shot up instantly, blazing with a red shield that he felt against his skin.
âMerlinâs beard, what was that?!â Ominis hissed, breathing hard, his heart now hammering from fright rather than the kiss.
New volleys began bursting over the rooftops of Hogsmeade one after another. The air shook with a series of explosions.
âEasy, Omi, put the wand down,â Sebastian laughed quietly, though his own breathing was equally unsteady. He laid a gentle hand over Ominisâs, urging him to lower it. âItâs just Zonkoâs testing new fireworks. Looks like someone from Gryffindor decided to put on a show in the middle of the afternoon.â
Ominis heard the students on the main street erupt into cheers and applause. The air still smelled of gunpowder and burnt sugar.
âI despise all of this,â Ominis muttered, straightening his displaced scarf and attempting to recover his aristocratic composure, though his cheeks were still burning. âWe got entirely carried away. Someone could have seen us. And those wretched fireworksââ
âWell, they certainly woke us up,â Sebastian said with a crafty grinâknowing full well Ominis couldnât see itâand took him by the arm again. âCome on, letâs get out of here before someone decides to investigate whoâs lurking in the alleyways. I know somewhere we can warm up. The Three Broomsticks awaits.â
Ominis gave a dissatisfied huff, but let Sebastian lead him back out onto the busy street. The adrenaline from the kiss and the sudden explosion was still pleasantly fizzing in his fingertips, and the prospect of hot butterbeer by a fireplace now seemed like the finest idea of the entire day.
The Three Broomsticks was loud, warm, and smelled of melted butter. A crowd of students had taken over nearly every table on the ground floor, noisily debating the very same Zonkoâs fireworks.
Ominis stood near the entrance, relishing the way the heat from the enormous fireplace was driving the winter chill from his body. He waited while Sebastian went to find them somewhere to sit. But for some reason, Sebastian was taking his time. Five minutes passedâmore than enough to locate a free tableâbefore Sallow finally reappeared.
âCome on, found us a nice spot.â
âHold onâwhat about our drinks?â
âDonât worry about it.â
Sebastian was pulling Ominis up the staircase, Ominis could barely keep up, sweeping his wand ahead to read the shape of his surroundings. When they passed the second floor and kept climbing, Ominis asked in surprise, âSebastian, where exactly are we going? The smell of butterbeer is getting weaker,â he noted, as the noise of the crowd suddenly dimmed.
âItâs far too loud and crowded down there, Omi,â Sebastian replied airily, climbing still higher. âI thought we could both do with a break from all that racket, and a little, well, privacy.
âDid you rent a room?â Ominis stopped dead, his eyebrows shooting up in outrage and disbelief. âSallow, weâre students!â
âOmi, relax. I didnât rent anything. Iâm merely borrowing it temporarily,â there was unmistakable mischief in Sebastianâs voice. âRelax and trust me. Just stay calm. And Iâve already got the butterbeerâitâs been Charmed warm in my pocket.â
Ominis exhaled heavily, but stopped resisting. When Sebastian murmured Alohomora and nudged him gently in the back to invite him inside, Ominis felt the change in atmosphere immediately.
It smelled of dried lavender, old wood, and hot wax. The room was small but extraordinarily cosy. To his right, somewhere, a small fireplace crackled, spreading soft, rolling warmth around it. Ominis heard the heavy oak door close behind him, and the click of the latch in the silence sounded like a final verdict on his better judgement.
âColloportus,â said Sebastian.
âSo whereâs this promised butterbeer?â Ominis asked in a tone of affected severity, though he had already turned his face towards where he could feel Sebastian standing, following the movement of the air.
Instead of answering, Sebastian closed the distance between them. His hands settled gently on Ominisâs shoulders, helping him shrug off his heavy winter cloak, which was promptly dispatched to the nearest armchair. The next moment Ominis was nudged carefully backwards, and he felt the edge of the bed against the back of his calves.
âThe butterbeer can wait,â Sebastian whispered against his lips, sitting down beside him and drawing Ominis with him so they both fell back against the soft pillows to the sound of the crackling fire. âIâve been waiting long enough.â
Ominis sank into the pillows, and the world around him narrowed entirely to the crackle of the fire, the whisper of blankets, and the warm weight of Sebastianâs body above his own. All the tension melted the moment Sebastian kissed him againâunhurried this time, without the urgency of the cold alley, deep and slow, taking all the air with it.
âSebastianâŚâ escaped Ominisâs lips when the kiss broke, and Sebastian moved lower, scorching his neck and the sensitive skin behind his ear with hot breath.
Sebastianâs hands moved with confidence and impatience. His rough fingersâstill carrying the faint ghost of pepper imps and liquoriceâmade quick work of Ominisâs warm jumper, his shirt buttons, and his undershirt, spreading the fabric aside. The cool air of the room brushed his chest for just a moment before it was replaced by the burning touch of Sebastianâs palms and lips. Ominis shivered with pleasure, arching into that warmth, and his own fingers buried themselves in Sallowâs thick chestnut hair, closing tight at the nape of his neck.
Sebastian seized the initiative, his thigh pressing between Ominisâs legs and creating a pleasant, maddening pressure through the layers of their trousers.
âBloody hell, love, youâre so warm,â Sebastian rasped against his collarbone, leaving a trail of wet kisses on his skin and grazing it with his teeth.
Ominis was breathing in ragged pulls. He could feel every vibration of the low moan that tore from Sebastianâs chest, hear the rustle of their clothes, and sense with his skin how quickly Sebastian was stripping them both of anything unnecessary. When Sallowâs fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers and drew them down along with his underthings, Ominis exhaled in a hot rush and closed his eyes, though darkness already surrounded him.
Sebastianâs palmâwarm and slick from a quick murmured charmâwrapped around them both. Ominis moaned out loud, without a shred of embarrassment, at the sudden, close contact of skin on skin. Sebastian began to move his hand in a rhythm that made Ominisâs head swim. The blond gripped Sebastianâs shoulders tight, surrendering entirely to those rough, certain fingers.
âLook at me,â Sebastian asked quietly, almost pleadingly, breathing against his lips, forgetting for a moment that Ominis couldnât. But Ominis understood. He lifted his head and found Sebastianâs lips with his own, pressing into a desperate, deep kiss, while Sallowâs hand below moved faster and more mercilessly.
Everything inside Ominis drew taut as a wire. After a few more hard rolls of Sebastianâs hips and swift strokes of his fingers, a wave of hot, blinding pleasure swept over them both. Ominis arched off the bed, breaking their kiss with a hoarse cry, as they shuddered apart together between their own bodies.
For several minutes the room held nothing but their heavy, synchronised breathing and the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. Sebastian collapsed bonelessly onto Ominisâs chest, tucking his face into his neck, while Ominis stroked his back softly, feeling the frantic rhythm of their heartbeats slow gradually in the warm, quiet shelter of the Three Broomsticks.
âWeâre staying the night, love.â
âWonderful, Sebastian. I do hope we wonât be catching it from Sirona in the morning.â
âOh, Iâm rather hoping the same,â they both laughed, pressing closer together in the warm bed of the hotel room.
pride month is over but I still have several stories with @hogwartslegacyprideweek prompts đ
RATING: T
WARNING: None
CATEGORY: M/M
RELATIONSHIP: Sebastian Sallow/Ominis Gaunt
CHARACTERS: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt
ADDITIONAL TAGS: Post-Hogwarts, Adult Ominis Gaunt, Adult Sebastian Sallow, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Traveling as Muggles, South of France, Sensory Perception, POV Ominis Gaunt, Chaotic Sebastian Sallow, Humor / Romantic Comedy
WORDS: ~1,7K
Ao3
âSebastian Sallow!â Ominis hissed, not for the first time that morning. âIf youâve forgotten something else in the house and go back in there a sixth time, I shall forget to take you with me!â
Ominis stood on the pavement beside the carriage while the cabman sighed with displeasure, waiting for his passengers, and the horses snorted. Ominis felt tense and rather anxious, because he was without his wand. Because for the first time, he and Sebastian were travelling as Muggles. This was their first proper holiday; they had saved up the money and were finally going somewhere warmâto the south of France.
Ominis had taken on extra shifts at St Mungoâs, while Sebastian had been brewing illicit potions and selling them on the black market in secret. When Ominis had found out, he had very nearly thrown Sebastian out of their home, because the man could easily be reported, and Sebastian would have lost his position at the Ministry.
But Ominis could never stay angry at Sebastian for long. When he felt the touch of those familiar hands, the warm press of those lips, heard that guilty voice he had heard a hundred times before, he melted. Every single bloody time. After so many years, Ominis ought not to have reacted that way, yet he still felt just as impossibly in love as he had at fifteen.
âDone!â Ominis heard the trunkâs clasp click shut. âLetâs go. Everythingâs accounted for this time, I promise.â
âQuite certain you havenât forgotten another shirt, Sebastian?â
âQuite certain, Ominis. Get in the carriageâhere, let me help you.â
When they had finally moved to London, having found what was very nearly the only lodging whose landlord didnât particularly care that two men would be sleeping in the same room, Sebastian had procured a long cane from some Muggle shopâhe had seen a blind man walking the street with one held out before him, and decided it would help them blend into the crowd during their strolls. Ominis had rolled his eyes but agreed it was more convincing than a wand in front of his face.
Sebastian helped Ominis climb into the carriage, and at last they set off.
âWhat time is it, Sebastian?â
âWeâre not running late, donât worry.â
âWhat. Time. Is it?â
âHalf past ten.â
Ominis swore. They were absolutely going to miss the train, and if they missed the train, they would miss the ferry across the Channel, and then the other train down to the Riviera.
âOh, come on, Ominis, itâs all fine. Weâll make it.â
âYou are insufferable, Sallow,â Ominis hissed, his mood having deteriorated entirely.
Then he felt a hand on his thigh and warm breath against his neck.
âSebastian!â Ominis protested, though something inside him softened at once, and his skin prickled with gooseflesh. âSomeone will see us.â
âNo they wonât. The curtains are drawn.â
âIâm angry with you.â
âI know,â Sebastian replied calmly, a smile audible in his voice, as he pressed his lips to Ominisâs neck. Lightly at first, barely touching, but then more insistentlyâlicking, grazing with his teeth.
âSebastianâŚâ Ominis exhaled, closing his eyes. âWeâre in a carriageâŚâ
âI know,â Sebastian answered slyly, and the hand on his thigh crept higher. With his other hand he undid the top button of Ominisâs shirt.
Sebastian smelled of rain, of some Muggle cologne bought in haste with notes of tobacco, and beneath it all a faint, sweet trace of potion ingredients that seemed, over the years, to have seeped permanently into his skin. That scent was known only to Ominis, belonged only to him, and it worked on him like the most potent tinctureâsoothing his anxiety and stirring him all at once.
Sebastianâs warm fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt and through his undershirt. Ominis shiveredâthe contrast between the cool air and that burning touch was almost painful, though he knew these hands by heart. He could hear every whisper of fabric. The rough pads of Sebastianâs fingers, scarred from spells and nicked from potion knives, traced his ribs slowly. Ominis arched towards him, catching his breath.
âSebastian, the cabmanâŚâ he tried again, but his voice betrayed him, dissolving into a quiet rasp.
Instead of answering, Sebastian pressed closer. Ominis found his face unerringlyâhis fingers slid along sharp cheekbones, felt soft hair, and travelled down to his lips. He could feel those lips curving into a sly, satisfied smile a moment before Sebastian kissed him.
The kiss tasted of the hot tea they had drunk that morning, and of that uncompromising certainty that had always belonged to Sallow and no one else. Ominis lost all sense of space entirely. He no longer cared about the train, about France, about the Channel. There was only this carriage swaying on the bends, the smell of tobacco and skin, and Sebastianâs lips on his own.
âHere we are!â The cabmanâs bright voice made them both start and pull apart.
âDid he see us?â Ominis asked, alarmed.
âNo,â Sebastian said quietly, and swiftly straightened Ominisâs clothing as though nothing had happened. âIâll help you down.â
Ominis heard the doors open, and the noise of Victoria Station flooded in around them. Carefully, with Sebastianâs help, he stepped down from the carriage and gripped his cane with more confidence. Within ten minutes they were on the platform.
âSeeââ
âNo.â
ââWe made it with time to spare,â Sebastian said cheerfully, returning for Ominis once they had stowed the luggage in the compartment. âAnd youâre not the least bit angry with me anymore, Omi-love, are you?â the man murmured, just low enough for Ominis alone to hear.
âI am,â Ominis said. âIâm simply very good at hiding it.â
Several hours later they were in France. The entire crossing on the ferry, Ominis had listened to Sebastian suffer from vomiting. Of course, Sebastian had forgotten the potion that would have helped him at home, despite Ominis having reminded him at least a dozen times. Which was perhaps why Ominis felt more indifferent than concerned about Sebastianâs condition.
They boarded another train, the one that was finally to take them down to the southern coast. The French train was different from the English oneâOminis could tell immediately by the sound. The wheels ran more smoothly, the rumble more muffled. Even the air in the compartment smelled different. Instead of the familiar London smog, coal dust, and damp, through the opened window crept the scent of toasted bread from station bakeries, dry grass, and unfamiliar, sweeter flowers.
Sebastian, entirely drained by the ferry, sat across from him with his head resting quietly against the wooden panel beside the window. His breathing was heavy and uneven. Ominis could hear the rustle of his shirt every time the train jolted over the points. Despite his performative indifference, Ominis sighed, rose from his seat, and moved to sit beside Sebastian.
âCome here, you disaster,â Ominis muttered quietly.
He drew Sebastian towards him by the shoulder, allowing him to rest his head in his lap. Sebastian obeyed without a word, which was remarkable in itself, and settled in. Ominis slipped his fingers into his dishevelled, coarse hair, gently massaging his scalp near the temples. He knew it helped Sebastian quiet the nausea and headache when there was no magic to hand.
âYouâll smell of saltwater after this journey,â Ominis said quietly, continuing to card through the chestnut strands.
âAnd youâll smell of me and saltwater,â Sebastian replied in a weak but still wry voice. âNo need to repent, Omi-love. I know youâre gloating.â
âI warned you ten times, Sebastian. Next time I shall simply leave you on your own.â
âHelpless without you? Thatâs rather cruel, Omi-love,â Sebastian gave a quiet huff and relaxed under his fingers, falling asleep before long to the steady rhythm of the wheels.
The train raced south, and Ominis felt the journey in every part of him. Hour by hour, the air drifting through the window grew hotter and drier. The familiar English chill that had always kept his muscles in a slight, habitual tension was gone. In its place the sun, now high overhead, warmed their compartment through. Ominis turned his face towards the stream of warm wind. On the back of his eyelids appeared a pleasant, almost forgotten sensationâa bright, golden-rose haze. It meant the southern sun was far stronger than anything he had ever felt in Britain.
When the train made its brief stops, entirely different sounds drifted into the compartment. In place of Londonâs restrained murmur, the platforms erupted in rapid, expressive French, the loud calls of fruit vendors, and laughter. It was noisy, unfamiliar and extraordinarily full of life.
The following afternoon they were nearly there. Sebastian was well again, having at last recovered from the ferry; his breathing had steadied, and when he sat up, Ominis could feel that his skin was no longer burning with exhaustion.
âOmi-loveâŚâ Sebastianâs voice sounded wondering. âYou have to feel this. The air⌠itâs like honey. And the sea⌠I can see it through the window. Itâs impossibly blue. And the sky⌠itâs the colour of your eyes, can you imagine?â
Ominis smiledâgenuinely this time, without a trace of sarcasm. He turned his face towards the window, feeling the salty, heavy breeze of the Mediterranean wash over him.
âI can feel it, Sebastian,â he said quietly, lacing his fingers through Sebastianâs. âI feel it just as clearly as you do.â
Several hours later, having made their way from the station in Monaco to a small village beyond the city and settled into a modest hotel, they finally prepared to go to the sea. In the room Ominis could at last use his wand, so he swept it in a wide arc and Transfigured the two separate beds into one large one.
Sebastian was rummaging through the trunks, gathering everything they would need at the beach.
âOmi-loveâŚâ Sebastianâs voice held a note of guilt that Ominis disliked immediately.
âIâm all ears.â
âI think I may not have packed your swimsuitâŚâ
The peace of the little seaside village on the south coast of France had not been disturbed by so furious a shout in a very long time, âSEBASTIAN SALLOW, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!â
Theo had a shitty summer job. He spent his days under Grangerâs watchful eye, working shoulder to shoulder with Draco on the castleâs restoration. But one evening, Theo decided heâd had enough. He set the stage and directed the night he had been dreaming of for a long time.
Garreth x Sebastian for @hogwartslegacyprideweek đ§š
RATING: E
WARNING: None
CATEGORY: M/M
RELATIONSHIP: Garreth Weasley/Sebastian Sallow
CHARACTERS: Garreth Weasley, Sebastian Sallow
ADDITIONAL TAGS: Rivals to Lovers, Quidditch, Fighting, Top!Garreth, Bottom!Sebastian
Words: ~3,4k
AO3
Rain lashed his glasses, and the cold wind cut straight to the bone. The broom handle kept slipping, and the Beaterâs bat was threatening to fly out of his hands entirely. No spell was helping any more, and the only thing Garreth wantedâthe only thingâwas for some Seeker on some team to catch the bloody Snitch. He didnât even care which one. He didnât care whether Gryffindor won, or Slytherin, or anyone else. He just wanted to get off his broom, have a shower, and be warm again.
Slytherins always played rough. But after years of training and matches, Garreth had grown used to itâhe even knew some of their dirty tricks by now. The Snakes were predictable. Sometimes it seemed like they were deliberately winding him up, swooping in from the side, trying to cut him off, just to break his concentration. Though today there was something new: Sallow had nearly knocked him off his broom with the bat. Yet another reason for Garrethâs fury.
Sallow had played for Slytherin as long as Garreth hadâsince fourth year. He was the only player whose habits Garreth had never managed to learn. Sallow moved fast, gripped his bat with easy confidence, sending the Bludger away without effort. He always made it look effortless. Graceful, almost. Like it didnât concern him in the slightest.
That was why the stands were always packed with girls when Slytherin played.
Girls liked Sallow. His confidence, his insolence, his arrogance. His large hands with their long fingers, his broad back, the scatter of freckles across pale skin. His rain-soaked hair and the sly grin that carved dimples into his cheeks.
Garreth deflected a Bludger that had been heading straight for the Seeker he was covering, and sent it sailing toward the opposing teamâs Chaser. The SeekerâMiriam, a sixth-year a year below himâhad spotted the Snitch. Garreth prayed silently to Merlin that sheâd catch it, so he could finally get off his broom. The match had been going on for five hours.
Then, without warning, Garreth was thrown sideways toward the stands, barely clinging to his slippery broom. He spun like heâd been caught in a whirlwind, unable to stop or level out, heading straight for the terrified crowd. When only a few metres separated him from the stands, a Gryffindor Chaser came in from the other side and stopped him from slamming bodily into the spectators.
âWhat the hell was that?!â the boy shouted.
âSallow! He shoved you and distracted Miriam. Slytherin caught the Snitch,â he said. âFinally, someone did.â
He flew off, and Garreth looked around, coming back to himself. The Slytherin stands were eruptingâcheering, green sparks arcing into the grey sky. The Gryffindors, by contrast, were already going quiet, beginning to drift away.
âWeasleyâs still our Quidditch king!â some sixth-year girls shrieked from the stands.
Girls liked Garreth the same way they liked Sallow. Tall and lean, broad-shouldered, with auburn curls and warm green eyes that flickered now and then with a spark of mischief. He could smile softly at them and they were already done for. In early autumn or late spring, when the weather warmed, spectators would gather for his training sessions in quiet hope that the flying would make him overheat, that heâd wipe the sweat from his brow with the hem of his training shirt, baring his stomach and torso, which was entirely inappropriate, and entirely compelling, in equal measure.
Garreth glanced at the stands, winked at the girls, pulled into a sharp dive, and landed on the pitch. He finally pulled off his helmet and let the rain cool his head. Then he walked slowly toward the changing rooms, where the rest of the players had already disappeared. Almost all of them.
âWeasley, confuse the pitch with a ballet studio?â Sallow caught up with him and shoved him roughly with his elbow. âYou flew even worse than usual today.â
âFuck off,â Garreth muttered, not looking at him, picking up his pace.
Then he stoppedâso suddenly that Sallow nearly walked straight into his back. Garreth turned around, and the eyes that were usually warm and easy were holding a proper storm now. Rain ran down his face, and he didnât feel it at all.
Garrethâs fury was almost a physical thing. This wasnât about losing the match. This was revulsionârevulsion at the fact that Sallow had pulled another dirty trick and walked away without a scratch. Heâd been nauseated by the Slytherin way of winning at any cost for years, but what was bothering him even more right now was how easily Sallow stood in front of him, smiling his infuriating smile with those insufferable lips. The smile didnât reach his dark eyes.
âYou could have broken my neck, Sallow,â Garreth said, voice low and even. âOr does that possibility not quite add up inside your empty head?â
The Slytherin let out a short laugh and switched his bat to his other hand.
âOh, come off it, Weasley. Donât you have danger on breakfast like a proper Gryffindor? I was just helping you get closer to your fan club a bit faster. You love the attention, donât you? Every single one of them would love to get into a broom cupboard with you now, youâre welcome,â Sallow said, and reached out to clap Garreth on the shoulder.
As if they were friends.
Garreth shook his hand off with a sharp movement and stepped closer.
âAdmit it,â Garreth said, looking down at him. âYou just wanted to win. Couldnât stand watching people look at my manoeuvres instead of your theatrical little pirouettes. Your ego is as overinflated as a cauldron full of Exploding Potion.â
He gave Sallow one last contemptuous look, turned, and walked away. He didnât even notice the rain had stopped.
âAt least my ego won my house the Cup!â Sallow called after him. Garreth turned back. Sallowâs smile had gone sharp as a blade. âMaybe youâll manage it too, someday. If you learn to hold on to your broom.â
âNext time,â Garreth said, crossing the distance between them until their chests were nearly touching, âIâll make sure you hit the ground before the first goal goes in.â
âOh?â Sallow hissed, then leant in close. âYouâre so hot when youâre losing. Rage suits you, Weasley,â he murmured, almost directly into his ear.
Garreth felt an electric charge run under his skin. He gripped his bat tighter, holding himself back from doing something heâd probably regret.
âStay away from me, Sallow,â he hissed, and walked quickly to the changing room.
What the hell was that? he thought, as he slowly peeled off his soaked robes. Youâre so hot when youâre losing. What is Merlinâs name! Who does he think he is, saying that to me? He didnât dare follow the thought to its natural conclusionâthe part where heâd liked hearing Sallow call him hot. Garreth shook his head, grabbed a towel, and headed for the showers.
His hands were still shaking from the cold, and adrenaline was still moving through him like a current. The hot water from the enchanted taps slowly warmed his body and dissolved his thoughts. Right now Garreth was thinking only about getting to the Great Hall as fast as possible, eating two sandwiches, and drinking two cups of hot herbal tea.
He stood under the water long enough that all his teammates had gone by the time he emerged. He stepped out at his own pace, wrapped a towel around his hips, and returned to the empty changing room. Steam from the showers had filled the space and settled warmly around his nearly bare body.
He was drying his hair with a second towel when he heard the door creak open. Garreth looked around, expecting to see someone from his team but the figure on the threshold was the last person heâd expected, and the last person he wanted to see.
âSallow, are you lost?â Garreth said, turning away. âClose the door behind you. From the other side.â
The door closed. Only the Slytherin was still inside. Garreth heard the lock click and went still.
âJust came to check you hadnât drowned in your own tears, Weasley,â Sallow said, moving a few steps closer before stopping and leaning against a wall a short distance away. âActually⌠I came to apologise. That shove was⌠It was too far. Even for me.â
Garreth glanced back. The towel had slipped lower with his sudden movement.
âToo far?â Garreth gave a short laugh. âThatâs all? You nearly killed me, and now youâve come here while Iâm on my own to apologise with that repulsive grin on your face? Donât do me any favours, Sallow.â
âIâm trying to be civil, Weasley. Donât be dramatic,â Sallow said, narrowing his eyes and his gaze moved, involuntarily, over Garrethâs bare torso, lingering a beat longer than decency, or the situation, or the nature of their relationship required. âYouâre doing your drama queen impression again.â He pushed off the wall and took a step forward, arms folding across his chest.
âYouâre a hypocrite,â Garreth said, taking a step toward him as well, feeling the anger heâd tried to wash away come flooding back. âYou came here to sneer, not to apologise. Get out.â
âYou think far too highly of yourself, Your Majesty,â Sallow said, taking another step until he was uncomfortably closeâclose enough that Garreth could smell his cologne. âI just⌠I donât like being in debt. But if youâd rather keep goingââ
âAll I want is for you to clear off and leave me alone,â Garreth hissed and shoved Sallow into the wall.
Garreth didnât think about what he did next. He grabbed Sallow by the collar of his robes and shoved him harder against the wall, pressing him there with his body. The Slytherinâs expression turned instantly hard. He pulled out his wand and pressed it under Garrethâs jaw, forcing his head up.
âDonât you dare shove me, Weasley,â he said, voice rough.
âOr what?â Garreth hissed, pressing his jaw harder against the wand. âGoing to hex an unarmed man? Very Slytherin of you, Sallow. Very honourable.â
The Slytherin merely made a sound in his throat and lowered the wand, sliding it into his robe pocket.
âI donât need my wand, Weasley.â
Garreth felt the sharp pain in his cheek as Sallow hit him. He lost his balance for a split second, and the Slytherin took full advantageâhis knee hit Garrethâs stomach and doubled him over. Sallow didnât move, breathing hard, waiting for something he couldnât name.
The moment Garrethâs breath came back, he didnât waste a second. He lunged forward and grabbed Sallow by his shirt collar. They grappled, both breathing hard, and the momentum brought them both crashing down onto the wide bench.
It was not a graceful duel. It was a rough, chaotic brawlâelbows, knees, tangled limbs and hot breath in each otherâs faces. Garreth pinned Sallow to the bench, looming over him, fingers digging painfully into the Slytherinâs shoulders. Sallowâs face was flushed, and Garreth could taste blood on his lip. Somehow, miraculously, his towel had stayed put.
âI hate you,â Garreth breathed, staring into Sebastianâs dark eyesâeyes that were burning now with something far more dangerous than anger. That infuriating smile appeared again.
âKeep telling yourself that, Garreth,â Sebastian said and in one sharp movement he flipped them over, so that Garreth was pressed against the cold surface and Sebastian was above him. He leant down and spoke directly into his ear. âYour heartâs going like it wants to beat its way into my hands. And whatâs this? Goosebumps on your beautiful, solid body.â Sallow pressed close to his ear, holding the Gryffindor firm.
Garreth didnât move. He barely breathed. What is happening? screamed the voice in his head. Meanwhile Sallow, slowly and carefully, touched the tip of his nose to Garrethâs cheek. The Slytherin held his gaze as he traced a path downwardâdescending carefully, centimetre by centimetre, his breath burning across freckled skin.
âWhat are you doing?â Garreth asked quietly.
âDonât tell me you donât like it, Your Majesty,â Sallow murmured and lowered his mouth to Garrethâs neck and pressed his lips there, gently.
Garrethâs pulse spiked, though heâd have sworn there was no higher for it to go. He wanted to shove the Slytherin off him, wanted to smash that insolent face in and put ten curses through his chest. But something in that desire felt hollow. False.
Sallow drew his tongue, barely touching, along the line of Garrethâs throatâfrom the base of his collarbone all the way up to his jaw. Still holding his gaze, he slowly, deliberately, released the hands that had been pinning Garrethâs arms, giving him room to move. Garreth should have shoved him off. Hit him. Throw him aside. But he couldnât move. He was breathing through his mouth, deep and uneven, unable to understand what was happening or why he was enjoying the feeling of the Slytherinâs lips and tongue on his skin.
Sallow hung over him with that satisfied smile. It seemed as though even he had expected a shove or a fist to the chest and none had come. So he lowered his head slowly, eyes still fixed on Garrethâs. When only centimetres remained between them, the Slytherin slowly licked a drop of blood from Garrethâs split lip.
Garrethâs heart stopped for a moment. The voice in his head was screaming PUSH HIM OFF, WEASLEY!
Instead, Garreth crossed the remaining distance and pressed his mouth to Sallowâs, smearing the blood between them.
Sebastian answered immediately, threading his fingers into Garrethâs damp curls. The Gryffindor could finally move againâhis hands gripped the waist of the boy above him and pulled him closer. After a few minutes they broke apart, staring at each other with something close to alarm.
âIs this⌠a joke?â Garreth asked quietly.
âNo,â Sebastian said, equally quiet. âWhy would you think itâs a joke?â
âI donât know, maybe because weâre both blokes?â
âSo what?â
So what, exactly? Garreth thought. What does it actually change?
âItâs justâŚâ Part of him was still fighting. âIt feels wrong somehow⌠I like girls.â
âWeasley,â Sebastian said quietly. âSo do I. But you⌠youâve drawn me in for a while now.â He admitted it like it cost him something. âAnd youâre nothing like a girl, soâŚâ He looked away. âI hope Iâm at least a little appealing to you as well.â
âI⌠Iâm not sure,â Garreth breathed.
Sebastian pressed closer against the Gryffindorâs body and met his eyes again with that sly smile.
âI rather think a certain part of you is speaking for you, Weasley.â
Garrethâs face went the colour of his hair. He became suddenly, acutely aware of the pulsing heat that had built in him somewhere during their fight and peaked during that blood-tinged kiss.
âThatâs just⌠itâsââ
âDonât say âan accidentâ, Weasley,â Sebastian said drily. âYouâve just turned eighteen, not twelve. SoâŚâ Sallow had been slowly lowering his hand this entire time, and now he hooked one finger under the edge of the towel ââŚthat is no accident.â
Garreth was losing, one battle at a time. His ears had gone red, his heart was hammering against his ribs, and his wide-eyed gaze was fixed on the boy pressing down against him. But somewhere deep in him, beneath the confusion and the shame, the same old Gryffindor lion stirredâthe one that had never learned to back down.
Sebastian was holding him against the bench, but Garreth could see it: the slight tremor in the fingers gripping the edge of his towel. Garreth felt his advantage suddenlyâfelt the weight and reach of his own strength. Sebastian wasnât actually dominating him. He was provoking him. And Garreth decided to accept the challenge.
In one sharp movement he caught Sebastianâs wrist, forcing him to let go of the towel. Before the Slytherin could react, Garreth used the momentum to flip them and now Sebastian was the one pressed against the cold bench, and Garreth was above him, breathing hard.
âYou talk too much, Sallow,â Garreth said, his gaze hard and focused. âYou want to be in control? Not now.â
Sebastian let out a short, low laugh, tipping his head backâa fresh challenge in his expression.
âOh. So the cub hasnât just grown teeth. Heâs decided he runs things now? Go on then, Weasley, show me what you can do, apart from blush and die of embarrassment.â
Garreth said nothing. He simply exhaled and his expression didnât shift. He unbuttoned Sebastianâs shirt beneath his robes and ran a warm palm slowly over the other boyâs freckled skin, drawing goosebumps in its wake. He undid the Slytherinâs trousers and pulled them down along with everything beneath.
âYou locked the door, didnât you?â
âYes,â Sebastian said, reaching for his wand. âColloportus.â
âGive me your wand, Sebastian.â
Sebastianâs eyes narrowed. His body went tense. But he held out the handle all the same, yielding to the Gryffindor.
âHexing an unarmed man?â he repeated Garrethâs own words, but this time there was a thread of genuine unease running through it.
âI just want us both to be⌠comfortable,â Garreth said. He lifted the wand and levelled it at Sebastian, speaking clearly and calmly. âEngorgio,â he murmured.
Silver light poured from the tip of the wand and wrapped itself around Sebastianâs body. The Slytherin shivered, feeling the magic expanding, easing, making his body more receptive. It wasnât painâit was a strange, tingling sensation of opening, and it sent a pulse of heat pooling low in his stomach immediately.
âHave you⌠done this before?â Sebastian asked.
âA girl asked me to. I remembered,â Garreth said quietly.
âWhat a diligent student you are, Weasley,â Sebastian murmured.
Garreth set down the wand and, without wasting another second, pulled the towel away from his hips with one sharp movement. Sebastianâs breath caught as he took in the entirely bare Gryffindorâthe lean, defined body, the pulsing heat of his arousal, which looked even more striking now through the lens of the spell and the visible desire that was radiating between them.
âYouâre⌠youâre absolutely mad, Weasley,â Sebastian breathed but his fingers were already digging into Garrethâs shoulders, pulling him closer.
âIâm used to seeing things through when someone throws down a challenge,â Garreth said, leaning down over him.
âWas it good for that girl?â
âTrust me.â
Garreth gave Sebastian no time to think. He took hold of his hips with one hand and began to enter himâslowly, carefully, but without hesitationâwhile his other hand moved along Sebastianâs full length. Thanks to the expansion spell, the entry was smooth, almost natural. Sebastian let out a short, rough moan, his body arching to meet Garreth.
âMerlin, Weasââ he breathed, his fingers digging into the Gryffindorâs back. âGarrethâŚâ
It wasnât gentle. It was the fight continuedâonly in a far more intimate form. Garreth moved deep and hard, pouring into each thrust everything that had been building in him all day: the anger, the adrenaline, and something that was rapidly becoming indistinguishable from want. Sebastian met him without hesitation, his body moving with Garrethâs rhythm, his quiet sounds mixing with the Gryffindorâs uneven breathing.
Steam from the showers still hung in the air around them, leaving their skin slick with heat and dampness. The silence of the changing room was broken only by the sounds of themâbreathless, urgent, increasingly unguarded. Garreth looked down into Sebastianâs eyes and saw it there: the thrill, the pleasure, and something that looked almost like relief.
âWhoâs the drama queen now, Sallow?â Garreth murmured against his ear.
âShut up, Weasley,â Sebastian breathed, his fingers twisting in Garrethâs damp curls. âAnd donât you dare stop.â
Garreth pressed his mouth to Sebastianâs and kissed him deeply. He felt his own release building and moved his hand faster, slick and deliberate, refusing to let himself get there first.
The wave broke over both of them at nearly the same moment. Garreth collapsed onto Sebastian, breathing hard. The Slytherin licked a drop of sweat from the Gryffindorâs damp temple.
âSallow,â Garreth said softly, still pressed against his chest.
