AL: August and September.
Prompt: August: Scars are tattoos with better stories. ~From a Toyota advertisement in Sports Illustrated magazine, 3 June 2002
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I don't own him, if I did, he'd look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 403.
Blaise had gotten the ouroborus tattoo while skiving off school one day, returning to Slytherin with gauze taped over his wrist and smirking fit to burst. Naturally, everyone had wanted to see what he'd gotten - the blue and green entwined snakes, outlined in black ink had drawn many compliments and not a few envious looks. When Tom had seen it, he had wanted a matching one, and Blaise had accompanied him and Pansy down to the tattoo studio in Hogsmeade. Pansy had gotten a bleeding rose on the back of her neck and Tom had gotten a matching ouroborus.
Six months later, Blaise and Tom sat facing each other in a dimly lit cave, tattoos healed, holding each other's arms as they carefully carved runes into each other's flesh, binding them together in a ritual as old as time. Blaise carved the Cyrillic for 'Bound to me' and his name in Tom's upper arm and Tom carved Enochian symbols for the same into Blaise's. They both incanted softly as they carved, Blaise in Russian and Tom in Parseltongue and magic soared and flared brightly, through the two of them, binding them together as lovers and companions.
The scars healed over and told the intimate story of their love for each other, love that many said was doomed. Blaise didn't feel particularly doomed, no Romeo and Juliet stories for him, he said as he smoked his cigarettes and drank vodka like a fish. As he grew older, he got more scars, scars that told less romantic stories, stories of violence and life lived hard and fast. He got another tattoo as well, black tribal ink just below his elbow and Tom got the same tattoo. If their scars never matched, their tattoos did, and those tattoos told of their love far more eloquently than words ever could.
At night, skin sensitive and heated from passion, they would lick and tease inked skin, probe at scarred flesh, renew their love and their bond through soft moans of need and desire. The only scars that mattered were those of their bonding, and all the other marks upon their skin from their lives were made irrelevant.
Prompt: September: Pleasure.
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: NC17.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 375.
There are many simple things in life that Blaise takes pleasure in: loud music, swimming in crystal clear lakes or streams or the ocean, good food, good vodka, Russian cigarettes. But there is nothing like the pleasure of being wrapped up in Tom's arms, kissing, slow, languid kisses that fuel the fire of their lust and hunger as they writhe together. There is nothing like feeling those warm hands on his skin, of sliding his own hands over Tom's skin, calloused fingers tracing over lines of bone and muscle and sinew, mapping the planes of Tom's body again and again.
There's nothing like feeling Tom's mouth on his cock, that warm wetness, sucking on him, tongue flicking over the head of his cock and looking down into his lover's lust hazy eyes, feeling strands of soft hair between his fingers as he tries not to just fuck his lover's face. There is nothing like the feeling of teetering on the edge, knowing that he's so close and then falling over it, caught up in the whirlwind of pleasure and release as he orgasms down Tom's throat, watching and panting as Tom swallows him down eagerly, making little noises of pleasure as he sucks and palms his own cock.
There's nothing like feeling Tom beneath him, arching into his body, his touch, begging for more, more, more. Feeling that tight heat grip his cock, clench down hard when he's balls deep in his lover is enough to make Blaise's brain short out and he knows, when Tom's lost to his pleasure and passion, his control in tatters as he ruts against Blaise like an animal in heat, that he's not going to last long at all.
When Tom comes thick and hot between them, Blaise's name on his lips, Blaise is caught up in it, coming hard, feeling his cock twitch inside his lover as Tom clamps down on him again and muscles milk him dry.
And when they lie together, holding each other and trading slow, lazy kisses again, basking in the afterglow, there's nothing like that either. Being with Tom in every well possible is all Blaise has ever wanted, and sex with Tom is the best kind of pleasure Blaise has ever had.
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: I don't own him, if I did, he'd look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 403.
Blaise had gotten the ouroborus tattoo while skiving off school one day, returning to Slytherin with gauze taped over his wrist and smirking fit to burst. Naturally, everyone had wanted to see what he'd gotten - the blue and green entwined snakes, outlined in black ink had drawn many compliments and not a few envious looks. When Tom had seen it, he had wanted a matching one, and Blaise had accompanied him and Pansy down to the tattoo studio in Hogsmeade. Pansy had gotten a bleeding rose on the back of her neck and Tom had gotten a matching ouroborus.
Six months later, Blaise and Tom sat facing each other in a dimly lit cave, tattoos healed, holding each other's arms as they carefully carved runes into each other's flesh, binding them together in a ritual as old as time. Blaise carved the Cyrillic for 'Bound to me' and his name in Tom's upper arm and Tom carved Enochian symbols for the same into Blaise's. They both incanted softly as they carved, Blaise in Russian and Tom in Parseltongue and magic soared and flared brightly, through the two of them, binding them together as lovers and companions.
The scars healed over and told the intimate story of their love for each other, love that many said was doomed. Blaise didn't feel particularly doomed, no Romeo and Juliet stories for him, he said as he smoked his cigarettes and drank vodka like a fish. As he grew older, he got more scars, scars that told less romantic stories, stories of violence and life lived hard and fast. He got another tattoo as well, black tribal ink just below his elbow and Tom got the same tattoo. If their scars never matched, their tattoos did, and those tattoos told of their love far more eloquently than words ever could.
At night, skin sensitive and heated from passion, they would lick and tease inked skin, probe at scarred flesh, renew their love and their bond through soft moans of need and desire. The only scars that mattered were those of their bonding, and all the other marks upon their skin from their lives were made irrelevant.
Prompt: September: Pleasure.
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: NC17.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 375.
There are many simple things in life that Blaise takes pleasure in: loud music, swimming in crystal clear lakes or streams or the ocean, good food, good vodka, Russian cigarettes. But there is nothing like the pleasure of being wrapped up in Tom's arms, kissing, slow, languid kisses that fuel the fire of their lust and hunger as they writhe together. There is nothing like feeling those warm hands on his skin, of sliding his own hands over Tom's skin, calloused fingers tracing over lines of bone and muscle and sinew, mapping the planes of Tom's body again and again.
There's nothing like feeling Tom's mouth on his cock, that warm wetness, sucking on him, tongue flicking over the head of his cock and looking down into his lover's lust hazy eyes, feeling strands of soft hair between his fingers as he tries not to just fuck his lover's face. There is nothing like the feeling of teetering on the edge, knowing that he's so close and then falling over it, caught up in the whirlwind of pleasure and release as he orgasms down Tom's throat, watching and panting as Tom swallows him down eagerly, making little noises of pleasure as he sucks and palms his own cock.
There's nothing like feeling Tom beneath him, arching into his body, his touch, begging for more, more, more. Feeling that tight heat grip his cock, clench down hard when he's balls deep in his lover is enough to make Blaise's brain short out and he knows, when Tom's lost to his pleasure and passion, his control in tatters as he ruts against Blaise like an animal in heat, that he's not going to last long at all.
When Tom comes thick and hot between them, Blaise's name on his lips, Blaise is caught up in it, coming hard, feeling his cock twitch inside his lover as Tom clamps down on him again and muscles milk him dry.
And when they lie together, holding each other and trading slow, lazy kisses again, basking in the afterglow, there's nothing like that either. Being with Tom in every well possible is all Blaise has ever wanted, and sex with Tom is the best kind of pleasure Blaise has ever had.