The atmosphere in the towering stands around the Quidditch pitch was electrifying, the excitement rolling off every student in attendance of the penultimate match of the season. The static of it all crackled on Blaine’s skin, his magic roiling within sending jitters down to his toes. The Hufflepuff team had already secured a place in finals after defeating Gryffindor with a whopping 200 to 80 points. Now it was the second leg of the semi-finals between Ravenclaw and Slytherin to determine who was to face Hufflepuff in the final match to secure the Inter-House Quidditch Cup of the year.
The birdsong of crested tits flying overhead pierced through the rumbling chatter in the stands, stealing Blaine’s attention. He cast his eyes up to follow the graceful, soaring movements of the birds before letting his sights sweep across the pitch. Clusters of bronze and blue adorned the east side where the Ravenclaw supporters sat in stands closest to their team’s goal posts while a sea of silver and green made up the west side. The stands right down the middle were neutral ground, a blotting width of odd colours amidst the two clashing sides of bronze-blues and silver-greens. This was where those who didn’t have a favoured team or simply didn’t want to choose a side sat. And this was where Blaine had chosen to sit.
The breeze rustled through the air, bringing with it the scents of fresh blooming flowers and crisp, cool dew that Blaine had always associated with Hogwarts. He inhaled deeply, the nervous jitters calming slightly, his lungs filling with brisk spring air. Despite the fluttery gust of wind, it was a pretty warm day, with a chance of light showers later in the evening. Instinctively, Blaine tugged at the collar of the sweater he was wearing under his sweatshirt, trying to let some of the air kiss his heated skin. Too many layers for such a warm day but he donned the sweatshirt anyway.
The feel of the woollen sweater was heavy on his body yet it fit perfectly, like a welcomed lover’s embrace. Blaine unconsciously ran his fingertips along the fabric underneath his sweatshirt. The jitters inside him quieted down to make room for another kind of sensation, something he had learned to associate with blushing. He smiled at the thought as he recalled pulling the sweater over his head earlier this morning, his hair and skin still damp from the shower he had shared with Sebastian.
Blaine flushed even more at the thought of his boyfriend, of breaking the rules to spend the night in the Slytherin dorms; the prickling heat on his skin now was no longer caused by the absurd extra layers he was wearing.
Blaine and Sebastian had come a long way since Valentine’s day- and since their discord in March. No more stolen moments and dark corners- and they communicate better now; about their feelings, their thoughts, their wants. Although he was still trying to find the most comfortable ways in showing his affections to Sebastian when they were surrounded by people, Blaine no longer pulled away from his boyfriend’s touches. He still met Sebastian’s kisses shyly but he gladly met him halfway all the same.
And then Blaine’s thoughts wandered to the more private moments they shared; the just us moments as Sebastian liked to call them. From breathy sighs to desperate whimpers. From his fingers tracing all the curves of Sebastian’s body to Sebastian’s hot, opened-mouthed kisses being mapped all over his bare skin. From the weight of Sebastian in between his thighs as Blaine took him in deeper to the taste of Sebastian when Blaine ran his tongue up his-
“Hey, Blaine,” came a greeting as a figure dropped down in the seat next to him.
Blaine jolted out of his thoughts, blinking distractedly at his friend, Sam Evans. He was highly aware that his cheeks must be tinted as red as the Gryffindor polo shirt the boy was wearing.
“Sam. Hi,” Blaine managed to reply, although his voice was a pitch higher. He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the compromising thoughts (and positions) of Sebastian out of his mind. Only Sebastian Smythe could have him so flustered without even being present, Blaine thought rather fondly.
“Merlin, I’m nervous about this game,” Sam confessed quietly, his hand closing around the stem of a Slytherin pennant, its silver-green clashing with the gold-red of his shirt. Blaine regarded his friend warmly; a proud Gryffindor, but an even prouder boyfriend to Quinn, the Slytherin Seeker. Proud and supportive.
Just then, cheers erupted from all sides of the stands. Blaine’s eyes eagerly darted towards the pitch and beside him, he could feel Sam doing the same. Below, both the Ravenclaw and Slytherin teams walked out from opposite ends. The teams met in the middle as the referee, Madam Turner, flew down in lazy spirals on her broom until she landed in between them. Blaine could see her talking, no doubt giving the rundown to both teams to have a clean, respectful game. The teams proceeded to exchange the customary pre-game handshakes and before long, all the players rose in the air on their brooms, the excitement of the spectators rising along with them. The air was charged with magic and adrenaline that Blaine could hardly keep still as the nervous jitters slammed into him once more.
With the blow of Madam Turner’s whistle, the Quaffle was released into the air. And the game was on.
Streaks of bronze-blues interwove with blurry ribbons of silver-greens as Chasers and Beaters zoomed through the air. The whooping cheers of the crowd were so loud that Gryffindor’s Nick Duval, who was providing the game’s commentary, had to apply Sonorus Maxima twice in order to be heard.
“And we’re off,” boomed Nick’s voice. “Slytherins taking early possession of the Quaffle.”
Blaine watched the players zip around the pitch as the Bludgers barrelled through the air dangerously, each teams’ Beaters at the ready. His eyes scanned the silver-green clad players and smiled as he spotted him even before Nick announced:
“It’s Sebastian Smythe leading with the Hawkshead Attack. A Slytherin classic.”
In the air, Blaine watched as the three Slytherin Chasers flew fast and unforgiving in an arrow formation, charging straight towards the Ravenclaw goal post, breaking the other team’s defences.
As the Ravenclaw players were forced to fly out of the way, Blaine sat at the edge of his seat, watching Sebastian pull back his arm, Quaffle in hand and sent it flying through the middle hoop.
“10 points for Slytherin,” came Nick’s enthusiastic commentary.
Blaine cheered along with the rest of the spectators- the rest of the Slytherin supporters to be accurate- while the opposing supporters grumbled their displeasure. He kept his eyes on Sebastian, tracking him as he flew back into formation, his broad build accentuated by the Quidditch protective gear worn over the team’s jersey; silver-green meshing unflatteringly with the pale brown padding. When Sebastian momentarily slowed his flight, Blaine let his eyes trace the large, emblazoned number 4 and the name Smythe on his boyfriend’s back. Then, Sebastian picked up speed and was a silver-green blur once more. A fierce kind of pride tore through Blaine from watching Sebastian soar through the air.
The game wore on; Chasers strived to score points while the Keepers valiantly blocked their attempts. The Beaters made sure their Chasers were safe from harm while the Seekers taunted each other with their tactics- both team Seekers had tried to pull the Wronski Feint on the other to no avail.
Slytherin was up 60-50.
“What a graceful twirl by Marley Rose, the Bludger barely missing her,” Nick bellowed. “And she’s off trailing after Quinn Fabray, in search of the Snitch once more.”
Ravenclaw surpassed Slytherin 90-80 now.
“The Ravenclaws are blazing through with their offence,” Nick’s voice blared magically throughout the pitch, his enthusiasm getting the whole crowd giddy with adrenaline as well- as though they were riding on broomsticks along with the players. “But wait-”
As his heart jumped feverishly in his chest, Blaine watched as Sebastian zoomed fast toward the Ravenclaw Chaser, Bludgers sent his way veering off as the Slytherin Beaters worked to keep him safe. He swooped down, flying just below the Ravenclaw Chaser and then, in one graceful leap- jumped from the left side of the Chaser, arced above her, stealing the Quaffle from her startled grasp and landed elegantly on his broom that had veered to the right of the Chaser, catching him securely in the air. Every spectator in the stands gasped collectively, gaping in awe- but no one more than Blaine.
“I cannot believe it. Sebastian Smythe just pulled a legendary Sabryn Steal,” Nick screamed giddily. “That is one for the history books, that is.”
Blaine tracked Sebastian as he swerved back towards the Ravenclaw post, dodging Bludgers and attacking Chasers.
“Can Smythe go for the equalizer?” Nick asked into the ether. “He’s almost there- but the Ravenclaws aren’t making it easy- their defence is impeccable.”
Just when it seemed that the two charging Ravenclaw Chasers would succeed in stealing the Quaffle back from Sebastian, Blaine watched as Sebastian zipped to the right, making the Ravenclaw Keeper fly straight for the right-most hoop to guard it- and without looking, tossed the Quaffle over his shoulder. Coming up fast from behind, the other Slytherin Chaser, Santana Lopez- and one of Sebastian’s best friends- grabbed the ball effortlessly and charged towards the other unguarded posts.
“Oh, brilliant reverse pass by Smythe to Lopez. Now that’s teamwork folks.”
Blaine couldn’t help but smile. He had watched the Slytherin team train countless of times- and every time, he was in awe of the camaraderie, the trust, and something much like telepathy the players shared with each other.
Then, the murmurs in the stands start to pick up volume, levels of excitement escalating. Blaine still had his eyes on Sebastian before he caught sight of the Seekers zipping and swerving through the air, the walnut-sized, golden Snitch fluttering fast just ahead of them. The murmurs stilled, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
“Come on, baby,” Blaine heard from somewhere beside him. He had been so engrossed with the match that Blaine had forgotten all about Sam, his knuckles white from gripping the Slytherin pennant in support of his girlfriend, the silver serpent gleaming on the flag’s fabric. Blaine regarded Sam’s tensed posture, his shoulder primed with suspense, his eyes never leaving Quinn’s flying form. There was a glint of pride shining in his friend’s eyes and he couldn’t help but wonder if that same glint was in his eyes when he watched Sebastian play.
Suddenly, cheers erupted, a dam of sound breaking. Blaine turned back towards the pitch:
“Fabray has the Snitch! Slytherin advances to the finals!” came Nick’s roaring voice, barely audible over the thunderous raucous from the stands.
Sam jumped to his feet. Blaine emulated him as they shouted their joy, their throats straining from their vocalized glee. Side by side, they watched as the Slytherin team formed a flying V in the air and zoomed around the pitch for a victory lap.
Moments after the match ended were a blur. Blaine had frantically tried to shove his way through the crowd milling sluggishly down the countless flights of steps, Sam close at his heel. He wanted nothing more than to run down, skipping two steps at a time; anything that would bring him closer to Sebastian faster, sooner.
When they finally reached the ground, Blaine and Sam all but ran towards the Slytherin team’s tent, their hurried strides muffled against the lush green, manicured grass at the fringes of the Quidditch pitch. Not for the first time, he almost regretted the extra layers he had been wearing, feeling the material of the sweater under his sweatshirt sticking to the small of his back, damp with perspiration.
By the time the Slytherin tent came into view, the players had already started filing out, their brooms safely stowed in the team shed, Blaine suspected. A handful of Slytherin supporters were gathering in small groups, no doubt trying to have a chat, or perhaps get an autograph, from the triumphant team.
“Oi, ay-up, Anderson!” the Slytherin Keeper, Jeff Sterling, called out to him before reaching for Sam and clapping the Gryffindor’s back. “Evans, the missus was ace out there, was she not?”
Blaine’s heart clenched warmly at the exchange; how easily the Slytherins had embraced his presence and Sam’s and extended their friendship to them. To think Blaine had once held the Slytherins in a rather unfavourable esteem still made him flush with embarrassment.
“That she was,” Sam said dreamily, staring ahead. It was then that Blaine followed his gaze and found Quinn walking arm in arm with Santana, Sebastian not far behind.
Blaine could feel the smile breaking across his face as his eyes found Sebastian’s. Sebastian had ditched his Quidditch gear, wearing only the green jersey with a width of silver stripe across the chest and he had his Firebolt Supreme resting over his shoulder. Trust Sebastian Smythe to be paranoid enough to never store his prized broomstick in the team shed, Blaine thought as his heart brimmed with affection for this Slytherin boy.
Then Sebastian smiled at him. And Blaine could have sworn his chest would burst with happiness.
Without another thought, Blaine broke into a run, barely swerving to avoid Santana and Quinn. Blaine threw his arms up around Sebastian’s neck. The Firebolt Supreme landed with a soft thud at their feet as Sebastian wound his arms around Blaine’s waist. And the next moment, Sebastian’s mouth was on his, hot and sweet and perfect.
Blaine’s eyes fluttered closed, immersing himself in the kiss. Sebastian smelled of cedarwood and sweat and the wind; it was intoxicating in the best of ways.
“Gross, Smythe,” Blaine heard Santana grumble. “Get a room.”
Blaine tensed slightly. He had never initiated something so publicly affectionate before- but was thrilled to find he no longer cared. He consciously peeled an eye open and saw Sebastian give Santana the finger from the corner of his eye, never once ceasing his kiss on Blaine’s lips.
“Tosser,” Santana barked but Blaine could hear the smile in her voice. There was never any bite to the insults she and Sebastian frequently hurled at one another; just merely best friends jesting.
Blissful moments passed with Blaine standing in Sebastian’s arms, ardently kissing. There, out on the pitch, amongst friends. No stolen moments, no dark corners. When they finally pulled apart, they were alone, the sounds of their friends far away across the castle grounds.
“Was that my congratulatory gift?” Sebastian said, a smirk on his lips, his eyes dark with lust.
Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Blaine’s stomach. It was still surreal that he was the one who could prompt such a reaction from the Slytherin boy, that he was the one Sebastian wanted, desired.
“Well-” Blaine purred as he shuffled away from Sebastian, putting an arm’s-length distance between them. “- not really. But this is.”
Slowly, Blaine pulled down the zipper of his sweatshirt, his movements deliberate and teasing. He kept his gaze on Sebastian and watched his boyfriend’s green eyes turn a shade darker, their bodies tensing with desire, their magic crackling in the paces between them.
Blaine let the sweatshirt slip off his body and pool on the grass next to the forgotten Firebolt Supreme, revealing the sweater he had been wearing. He heard the way Sebastian’s breath was caught in his chest.
“Is that... is that... mine?” Sebastian asked, taking a step back. Blaine could feel those green eyes on him, tracing the outlines of his body, lingering on the silver and green fabric clinging to it.
Blaine turned purposefully, slowly letting Sebastian’s eyes follow his movements. He knew the exact moment Sebastian’s sights fell on the large printed 4 on his back, the name Smythe emblazoned in an arch above it, judging from Sebastian sharp intake of breath.
It was Sebastian’s Quidditch team sweater, stealthily stolen while Sebastian had had his back turned to him this morning.
“It’s yours,” Blaine breathed over his shoulder. As am I, his heart quietly supplied.
Almost immediately, strong hands fell on his shoulder and turned him around. Blaine groaned the moment Sebastian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before kissing him again. Deepening the kiss, Sebastian licked into Blaine’s mouth, his possessive hands roaming on Blaine’s back, tracing his own Chaser number, his own name.
“Were you that confident we would win today that you wore that?” Sebastian asked against his lips when they pulled apart. “Not that I ever doubted it myself, though.”
Blaine huffed a laugh. If there was anyone with a slightly unhealthy dose of confidence, it was Sebastian Smythe.
“I was confident you would play to win,” Blaine answered earnestly, his chest puffing with pride. “But win or lose, I wanted to wear it- for you.”
Sebastian’s eyes softened, looking at Blaine like he had hung the moon. Blaine could feel his cheeks burning at such an attention.
Although he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to wear Sebastian’s sweater, Blaine had known it was something he needed to do. He had been a prat about Sebastian being a Slytherin in the beginning, almost let it ruin something good; donning the Slytherin colours that proudly bore Sebastian’s name was Blaine’s own definition of their just us moment.
A Slytherin. A Hufflepuff. Blaine. Sebastian. But in the end, it would come down to just us.
“For me?” Sebastian asks, his question a whisper on Blaine’s skin.
“For you,” Blaine confirmed, lacing his tone with all the affection he could muster. “For you to know that I’m proud of you.” Blaine pecked a kiss to Sebastian’s cheek. “And that I’ll always support you.” He kissed the other cheek. “And that I am yours.”
Searching Sebastian’s face, Blaine was mesmerized to find the myriad of emotions exploding behind those green eyes. The awe, the pride, the love.
And then, Sebastian was kissing Blaine again with renewed fervour.
“Mine,” Sebastian growled in between kisses. “Mine.”
Blaine smiled into the kisses.