A Gift For ideare: Fancy Seeing You Here, (Ron/Blaise, PG13)
Author: fangqueen
Recipient: ideare
Title: Fancy Seeing You Here
Pairing: Ron/Blaise (Background: Blaise/Unnamed Male, Ron/Unnamed Male)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): EWE, Language, Mild Sexual References
Word Count: 1847
Summary: They didn’t work in the same department, and yet somehow it was like he couldn’t escape him. In the lift at work, in the breakroom, at his daily coffee run at the one bloody shop on his way in.
Author's Notes: To my wisher: a couple of the pairings you were looking for (and this one I wrote in particular ;)) are some of my favorites also, and I couldn’t have been happier about that! I based this on your prompt: “We met on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame.” I got a bit carried away, and this ended up going a lot longer than I’d intended, but I hope you enjoy it! <3
He didn’t know if it was possible to feel any more ill than he did at this exact moment. Blaise stood on the stoop outside the unfamiliar apartment building, wincing against the churning of his stomach and the chill of the icy, morning wind, and contemplating his life and his choices. As one does after an evening they’d prefer to forget. At least, one as regretful of a fateful decision that previous night as he was.
By the time he’d encountered the regret in question at that seedy little nightclub, it had been nearly closing time, and the former Slytherin had been drunk enough to not really care who he was going home with, so long as it was someone. Which was exceedingly drunk, actually, because Zabinis tended to have ridiculously high standards when it came to who they dated--or had one night stands with, as it were. This one definitely wouldn’t have made it on his list had Blaise been in a more reasonable state of mind. Besides the fact that he felt like the sex wouldn’t have been all that memorable even if they hadn’t both been pissed, the sight of his partner’s filthy room when he’d awoken--embarrassingly sober--mere minutes ago had been cringeworthy, to say the least. He’d never thrown his clothes on and left without so much as a goodbye so quickly in all his life. Draco should’ve been a better friend than to see him off with a bloke like that. Damn him. Although, admittedly, he’d been a little preoccupied himself, so perhaps he just hadn’t noticed.
Now he faced yet another choice: take himself straight home; or try to get something to drink, maybe a small bite, to ease his suffering, and risk being sick all over the floor of whatever poor establishment he selected. The former sounded much better, of course. He was impossibly exhausted, and he felt like he needed at least three showers before being even remotely comfortable with showing his face in public. But the call of an herbal tea and the promise of the relief it may bring swayed him.
Luckily, while he hadn’t been familiar with this particular abode prior to about 2am that morning, the neighborhood was one he knew well. It was one of those quaint (and well hidden) magical communities that had started springing up all over London recently--à la Diagon Alley, but more homey. This happened to be the one closest to the Ministry’s staff entrance, and Blaise knew of a cafe down the street, close to the area’s Apparition point. After all, he visited it nearly every morning on his way to work.
Once arriving at the place’s front door, however, he had to check his watch to make sure he hadn’t lost any time somehow, because the place was absolutely packed. He didn’t know how that could be possible, on a holiday such as this. He recalled seeing the signs posted about the place over the last month, advertising that they’d be open for their regular hours today, but he hadn’t honestly believed anyone would’ve taken them up on it. Even he wouldn’t have been now, if he hadn’t been passing by and in need of something soothing.
Sighing in irritation, he figured he’d made it thus far and might as well, so he slipped inside, past a couple on their way out, and took up a spot at the end of the queue. Once he was there, it didn’t seem all that bad; there weren’t as many people as there had appeared to be through the window. However, it soon came to his attention just who was standing directly in front of him, and he groaned inwardly. It was too late to back down, though, because as soon as the door jangled shut behind him, the redhead turned around and caught his gaze.
They didn’t work in the same department, and yet somehow it was like he couldn’t escape him. In the lift at work, in the breakroom, at his daily coffee run at the one bloody shop on his way in. At the company Christmas party a couple weeks back, he’d expertly avoided what had looked like several attempts on the other man’s part to actually have a pleasant conversation with him.
And right now, stuck in this line as he was, there was no way of dodging it when Ron nodded his head in greeting and said, “Zabini. Really a morning for it, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know how the fuck they’re this busy,” he blurted out without a second thought, which seemed to take Ron by surprise. They’d barely ever said two words to each other in all these years, and Blaise wasn’t exactly the chatty type. But he was beyond tired; too much so to keep up his usual appearances. Or maybe Draco was finally starting to rub off on him. “It’s New Years, and a Sunday. There’s no bloody work today, what are all these people doing up at this hour?”
“Dunno, mate. I mean, we’re here, too.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t have many other options.”
Ron really looked at him then, taking in the sight he’d tried to hide under his peacoat: that of a rumpled button-up, open over his undershirt, and trousers that had a small stain above the left knee that he didn’t even want to begin to imagine where it had come from. His hair, while short and curly, was thankfully not mussed enough to give anything away, but by his expression, he could tell that Ron got the idea anyway. Perhaps he wasn’t as dense as he and Draco had always believed.
“Rough night?” he asked carefully, clearly stepping lightly around the subject itself.
“You could say that.” This would’ve been the moment when a “normal” human would’ve fidgeted uncomfortably. Of course, Blaise Zabini wasn’t typically considered a normal human.
The line moved forward one painfully slow pace.
“New Years Eve will do that to you,” he heard Ron mutter, distracting him from his perusal of the menu. A mint tea, yes, that sounded nice for his stomach.
“A few too many shots will do that to you.”
“You know, I’d never really pictured you the partying type.”
Blaise blinked at him for a moment, annoyed. Was Ron really trying to chit-chat with him right now? The way he looked should’ve made it obvious to anyone that he wasn’t in the mood, even if they didn’t know him. “Draco can be very persuasive.”
“I can imagine.”
The line moved once more, thankfully a tiny bit faster.
He caught the redhead scrutinizing him again, and he responded with an irritated, “What?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t think you and Malfoy…”
There was enough innuendo in even those few words to get his message across. Blaise didn’t exactly blame him; he wasn’t the first to think he and Draco were shagging. “We’re not. My night probably would’ve been a lot more enjoyable if we were.”
“Oh…”
That (and the line shuffling forward another inch or two) finally got the redhead to turn around. Perhaps Blaise had made him uncomfortable. Whatever, not his problem; he had asked, after all. Still, he found himself looking back, and finally noticed it: Ron looked about as hellish as Blaise felt. He could see now that his clothing was equally rumpled, one pant leg was rolled up enough to clearly display that he wasn’t wearing any socks, his hair was uncharacteristically tousled even for him, and was that a hickey on his neck? Blaise felt a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, despite himself. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d had a “rough” night.
“So what are you doing here?”
Startled, Ron’s head whipped around again. He looked surprised that Blaise was still talking to him, and he stammered, “I…” Then, the former Slytherin could almost physically see all pretense drop away from him as he sighed, then laughed, and said, “I’m fucking knackered, probably still drunk from last night, and if I don’t get some coffee in me, I’m literally going to die.”
“Ah. So not the best night for you either, I take it.”
“You could say that,” he echoed, a mere twinkle of his typical Weasley joviality in his bloodshot eyes.
Somehow, they’d finally made it to the front of the line. Ron diverted his attention to the barista and ordered a plain black coffee when prompted. When she asked if he needed anything else, however, it was suddenly his turn to take Blaise by surprise as he turned to casually ask:
“Yeah, what do you want, Zabini?”
Blaise furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m buying, what do you want?”
The hell was this? He didn’t know what to say to that. Their first legitimate conversation, and all of a sudden Ron was trying to treat him? “I have money,” he settled on, his voice hushed as the cashier glanced between them anxiously.
“I know you do, that’s not the point.”
Then what was the point, exactly? He was too tired to deal with this right now, and he wasn’t about to allow himself to be taken care of by an act of damned Gryffindor chivalry--least of all from a Weasley. Blaise probably had more money in his change jar at home than the redhead had ever seen.
“I don’t need you to pay for me, Weasley.”
“Oh, just go with it, would you? Bloody Slytherins, I don’t have the energy to play this game today…”
“I don’t know what you’re--”
“You know, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for awhile now.” That startled and confused the otherwise non-plussed Blaise enough to shut up. “I know we weren’t exactly the best of friends in school or anything, but now that we work together, the least you could do when you see me in here every morning is say hello.”
There was a solid beat where neither of them said anything, during which time the cashier hastily tried to interject, but Blaise ignored her in favor of replying:
“You want me...to say hello?”
“Yes,” he answered simply, as if it was entirely obvious why he even cared about it in the first place. Then, with some thought, he added at a much lower octave, “And maybe, in time...you can take me with you when you go out.”
Well. That certainly was an interesting proposition. Eyebrow raised, Blaise stood there another beat, considering. Was that what all this had been about, all this time? All those moments Ron had tried to talk to him? Another scan of the man’s form told him it might just be worthwhile, if those big hands and that sturdy body were anything to go by. And so he ordered his tea, which seemed to calm the barista, and she set about getting their beverages prepared, while Ron observed him with a gradually broadening grin. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt to give him a shot. At the very least, it’d probably be a lot more exciting than his conquest last night…
Recipient: ideare
Title: Fancy Seeing You Here
Pairing: Ron/Blaise (Background: Blaise/Unnamed Male, Ron/Unnamed Male)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): EWE, Language, Mild Sexual References
Word Count: 1847
Summary: They didn’t work in the same department, and yet somehow it was like he couldn’t escape him. In the lift at work, in the breakroom, at his daily coffee run at the one bloody shop on his way in.
Author's Notes: To my wisher: a couple of the pairings you were looking for (and this one I wrote in particular ;)) are some of my favorites also, and I couldn’t have been happier about that! I based this on your prompt: “We met on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame.” I got a bit carried away, and this ended up going a lot longer than I’d intended, but I hope you enjoy it! <3
He didn’t know if it was possible to feel any more ill than he did at this exact moment. Blaise stood on the stoop outside the unfamiliar apartment building, wincing against the churning of his stomach and the chill of the icy, morning wind, and contemplating his life and his choices. As one does after an evening they’d prefer to forget. At least, one as regretful of a fateful decision that previous night as he was.
By the time he’d encountered the regret in question at that seedy little nightclub, it had been nearly closing time, and the former Slytherin had been drunk enough to not really care who he was going home with, so long as it was someone. Which was exceedingly drunk, actually, because Zabinis tended to have ridiculously high standards when it came to who they dated--or had one night stands with, as it were. This one definitely wouldn’t have made it on his list had Blaise been in a more reasonable state of mind. Besides the fact that he felt like the sex wouldn’t have been all that memorable even if they hadn’t both been pissed, the sight of his partner’s filthy room when he’d awoken--embarrassingly sober--mere minutes ago had been cringeworthy, to say the least. He’d never thrown his clothes on and left without so much as a goodbye so quickly in all his life. Draco should’ve been a better friend than to see him off with a bloke like that. Damn him. Although, admittedly, he’d been a little preoccupied himself, so perhaps he just hadn’t noticed.
Now he faced yet another choice: take himself straight home; or try to get something to drink, maybe a small bite, to ease his suffering, and risk being sick all over the floor of whatever poor establishment he selected. The former sounded much better, of course. He was impossibly exhausted, and he felt like he needed at least three showers before being even remotely comfortable with showing his face in public. But the call of an herbal tea and the promise of the relief it may bring swayed him.
Luckily, while he hadn’t been familiar with this particular abode prior to about 2am that morning, the neighborhood was one he knew well. It was one of those quaint (and well hidden) magical communities that had started springing up all over London recently--à la Diagon Alley, but more homey. This happened to be the one closest to the Ministry’s staff entrance, and Blaise knew of a cafe down the street, close to the area’s Apparition point. After all, he visited it nearly every morning on his way to work.
Once arriving at the place’s front door, however, he had to check his watch to make sure he hadn’t lost any time somehow, because the place was absolutely packed. He didn’t know how that could be possible, on a holiday such as this. He recalled seeing the signs posted about the place over the last month, advertising that they’d be open for their regular hours today, but he hadn’t honestly believed anyone would’ve taken them up on it. Even he wouldn’t have been now, if he hadn’t been passing by and in need of something soothing.
Sighing in irritation, he figured he’d made it thus far and might as well, so he slipped inside, past a couple on their way out, and took up a spot at the end of the queue. Once he was there, it didn’t seem all that bad; there weren’t as many people as there had appeared to be through the window. However, it soon came to his attention just who was standing directly in front of him, and he groaned inwardly. It was too late to back down, though, because as soon as the door jangled shut behind him, the redhead turned around and caught his gaze.
They didn’t work in the same department, and yet somehow it was like he couldn’t escape him. In the lift at work, in the breakroom, at his daily coffee run at the one bloody shop on his way in. At the company Christmas party a couple weeks back, he’d expertly avoided what had looked like several attempts on the other man’s part to actually have a pleasant conversation with him.
And right now, stuck in this line as he was, there was no way of dodging it when Ron nodded his head in greeting and said, “Zabini. Really a morning for it, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know how the fuck they’re this busy,” he blurted out without a second thought, which seemed to take Ron by surprise. They’d barely ever said two words to each other in all these years, and Blaise wasn’t exactly the chatty type. But he was beyond tired; too much so to keep up his usual appearances. Or maybe Draco was finally starting to rub off on him. “It’s New Years, and a Sunday. There’s no bloody work today, what are all these people doing up at this hour?”
“Dunno, mate. I mean, we’re here, too.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t have many other options.”
Ron really looked at him then, taking in the sight he’d tried to hide under his peacoat: that of a rumpled button-up, open over his undershirt, and trousers that had a small stain above the left knee that he didn’t even want to begin to imagine where it had come from. His hair, while short and curly, was thankfully not mussed enough to give anything away, but by his expression, he could tell that Ron got the idea anyway. Perhaps he wasn’t as dense as he and Draco had always believed.
“Rough night?” he asked carefully, clearly stepping lightly around the subject itself.
“You could say that.” This would’ve been the moment when a “normal” human would’ve fidgeted uncomfortably. Of course, Blaise Zabini wasn’t typically considered a normal human.
The line moved forward one painfully slow pace.
“New Years Eve will do that to you,” he heard Ron mutter, distracting him from his perusal of the menu. A mint tea, yes, that sounded nice for his stomach.
“A few too many shots will do that to you.”
“You know, I’d never really pictured you the partying type.”
Blaise blinked at him for a moment, annoyed. Was Ron really trying to chit-chat with him right now? The way he looked should’ve made it obvious to anyone that he wasn’t in the mood, even if they didn’t know him. “Draco can be very persuasive.”
“I can imagine.”
The line moved once more, thankfully a tiny bit faster.
He caught the redhead scrutinizing him again, and he responded with an irritated, “What?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t think you and Malfoy…”
There was enough innuendo in even those few words to get his message across. Blaise didn’t exactly blame him; he wasn’t the first to think he and Draco were shagging. “We’re not. My night probably would’ve been a lot more enjoyable if we were.”
“Oh…”
That (and the line shuffling forward another inch or two) finally got the redhead to turn around. Perhaps Blaise had made him uncomfortable. Whatever, not his problem; he had asked, after all. Still, he found himself looking back, and finally noticed it: Ron looked about as hellish as Blaise felt. He could see now that his clothing was equally rumpled, one pant leg was rolled up enough to clearly display that he wasn’t wearing any socks, his hair was uncharacteristically tousled even for him, and was that a hickey on his neck? Blaise felt a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, despite himself. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d had a “rough” night.
“So what are you doing here?”
Startled, Ron’s head whipped around again. He looked surprised that Blaise was still talking to him, and he stammered, “I…” Then, the former Slytherin could almost physically see all pretense drop away from him as he sighed, then laughed, and said, “I’m fucking knackered, probably still drunk from last night, and if I don’t get some coffee in me, I’m literally going to die.”
“Ah. So not the best night for you either, I take it.”
“You could say that,” he echoed, a mere twinkle of his typical Weasley joviality in his bloodshot eyes.
Somehow, they’d finally made it to the front of the line. Ron diverted his attention to the barista and ordered a plain black coffee when prompted. When she asked if he needed anything else, however, it was suddenly his turn to take Blaise by surprise as he turned to casually ask:
“Yeah, what do you want, Zabini?”
Blaise furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m buying, what do you want?”
The hell was this? He didn’t know what to say to that. Their first legitimate conversation, and all of a sudden Ron was trying to treat him? “I have money,” he settled on, his voice hushed as the cashier glanced between them anxiously.
“I know you do, that’s not the point.”
Then what was the point, exactly? He was too tired to deal with this right now, and he wasn’t about to allow himself to be taken care of by an act of damned Gryffindor chivalry--least of all from a Weasley. Blaise probably had more money in his change jar at home than the redhead had ever seen.
“I don’t need you to pay for me, Weasley.”
“Oh, just go with it, would you? Bloody Slytherins, I don’t have the energy to play this game today…”
“I don’t know what you’re--”
“You know, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for awhile now.” That startled and confused the otherwise non-plussed Blaise enough to shut up. “I know we weren’t exactly the best of friends in school or anything, but now that we work together, the least you could do when you see me in here every morning is say hello.”
There was a solid beat where neither of them said anything, during which time the cashier hastily tried to interject, but Blaise ignored her in favor of replying:
“You want me...to say hello?”
“Yes,” he answered simply, as if it was entirely obvious why he even cared about it in the first place. Then, with some thought, he added at a much lower octave, “And maybe, in time...you can take me with you when you go out.”
Well. That certainly was an interesting proposition. Eyebrow raised, Blaise stood there another beat, considering. Was that what all this had been about, all this time? All those moments Ron had tried to talk to him? Another scan of the man’s form told him it might just be worthwhile, if those big hands and that sturdy body were anything to go by. And so he ordered his tea, which seemed to calm the barista, and she set about getting their beverages prepared, while Ron observed him with a gradually broadening grin. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt to give him a shot. At the very least, it’d probably be a lot more exciting than his conquest last night…