Nowhere else to turn Chapter 80: Competition
‘George Weasley bids him farewell, leaving Blaise alone in the shower stalls. Sticking his sore head back under the lukewarm spray, Blaise moans as he is finally able to give voice to his many aches and pains. Was that a friendly Quidditch match, or all-out warfare? Thank Merlin Draco finally snaffled the Snitch and pulled me out of the line of fire. He prods gingerly at his bruised eye socket. That bastard Faulkner was lucky the referee missed his blatant elbow to my cheek. Dirty pool, indeed.
I hope Gus doesn’t think less of me for being an – well, let’s say, ‘erratically brilliant’ Beater, he sombrely ponders. I certainly had my arse handed to me on a platter today. At least she didn’t seem to delight in the stuffing being pummelled out of me.
“Zabini? Have you drowned in there?”. Blaise skitters away from the taps at the sound of Gus’s voice, snatching up his towel to wind around his hips. He secures the ‘garment’ just before she rounds the corner.
“Gussie! What if George or Puck were still in here? Or Draco?” Blaise squeals. “Just give me a minute, alright?”. He can’t meet her eyes as an unfamiliar emotion takes hold. Am I feeling… self-conscious? Me? I guess being mercilessly hunted around the Quidditch pitch for the last ninety minutes might have dinged my self-assurance a tad. Keeping his back turned, he begins to sidle toward the cubicle containing his clothing.
“Untwist your knickers – I saw George and Puck leave, and Draco bolted out of here as soon as Hermione Disapparated home, OK? I gave you plenty of time to make yourself decent – Blaise, your ribs!” Gus gasps; her cool, nimble fingers stroke the huge bruise along his side as he freezes mid-step. “Why didn’t you see the Healer? Our Keeper Amy did, and she only had a split lip,” she chides. The palpable concern in her voice clogs his throat.
“Didn’t– I didn’t want to be late. For our picnic,” he rattles out, automatically closing his eyes as she gently runs her hands over his bruised skin. “Gelsy can fix me up when we get home tonight.”
“By Rowena, Blaise – your health is more important than a few sandwiches and home-made lemonade! Stay still – I’m healing you right now.” Gus whips out her wand, chanting “Episkey” until she is satisfied that every wound and contusion is repaired.
“But they’re really good sandwiches, Gus; Gelsy even garnished them with a sprig of parsley,” Blaise wisecracks, chancing a quick peek at her frowning face. “I’m fine, really. Thank you, Gussie.”
He carefully slides his left hand onto the sweet curve of her jeans-clad hip, loving how warm she feels. He sucks in a startled breath as she mimics his movement, resting her palm on his taut stomach, just above the thick towel’s upper edge.
“Isn’t it tradition, to award the victor a kiss?” Gus languorously asks, settling her other hand on his damp chest. “Congratulations, Blaisey.”
Breathtakingly aware of every tiny detail of the woman before him, Blaise’s anticipation reaches hitherto unknown heights. The world narrows down to the few square feet of their interaction. Frightened to speak – Gods, I’m petrified to breathe too loudly – lest Gus change her mind about bestowing him a kiss, Blaise keeps perfectly still, only his long dark eyelashes jittering as he watches her shuffle ever nearer.
“You’re so sexy, Blaise… especially now, when you’re not trying to be,” Gus purrs, her fingertips setting him aflame with the tiniest of rotations; she watches in fascination as his lower abs contract and relax with every miniscule sweep. “I guess I expected you to be blasé about the whole sexual attraction thing, given our inequal levels of experience… but you’re amazingly receptive, aren’t you?”.
“To– to you– I’m receptive to you – of course I am,” Blaise somehow manages to rasp a reply. “I burn for you, Gussie. I’ve never felt like this with another woman, ever. It’s not a line… please believe me, la mia splendida ragazza.”
“What does that mean?” she wonders, so near now that he can clearly note the darker bark-brown ring around each of her stunning topaz irises. “’La mia splendida ragazza’? I can guess the splendid part, but ‘ragazza’?”.
“It means ‘my gorgeous girlfriend’,” Blaise whispers. “I’d love to make it the truth, Gussie.” He holds his breath as it is her turn to freeze. Why did I have to blurt out that?! I’m an overeager idiot, obviously. His heart crumples as Gus remains rooted in place. Just as he miserably decides he’s gone too far, her mouth urgently crashes onto his.
Elated, Blaise follows her lead. Finesse forgotten, he tangles his tongue with her darting one, sucking hotly. Her hungry hands seem determined to inventory every inch of his flesh, starting with his tight belly. It takes all of his willpower to not thrust mindlessly against her as she squeezes, strokes, and even scratches his bared skin with her short nails. Blaise’s hands tremble as they settle on her shoulders, lightly gripping at the soft cotton of her simple black t-shirt…’
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994118/chapters/71279853
