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Under the Golden Lights

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Clumsy, reckless, close-minded, a git with an atrocious sense of humour, and way too loud. Those were the things Draco and Pansy thought of Ronald Weasley, but it was exactly those same things Blaise loved so much.


He loved the blush on Ron's cheeks when he tripped on the rug or against a chair, too busy staring at Blaise to watch his step. He loved how he stood up for the people he cared for without hesitation, how fiercely passionate he was to defend his ideals and beliefs. Blaise loved to hear Ron laughing proudly at his own lame jokes, and he loved how he shouted 'I love you, Blaise Zabini!’ from the top of his lungs.


Imperius and Amortentia had been the main suspicions among their worried families and friends, but with time came acceptance, and with acceptance new friendships were made.


“I still don't get how you two got together,” Harry said, a bit tipsy, after coming back from the bar with the next round of drinks.


“You wanna know the truth?” Ron started, smirking when all eyes turned to him. “He was working in a sausage factory—you know how I love free samples—and, well, I did what I do best…I shamelessly flirted, with a sausage in my mouth.”


“The way he deep throated that thick sausage… irresistible ,” Blaise said and, ignoring the snorts, bouts of laughter, and eye rolls, he returned the sweet peck on the lips Ron gave him.


“But–but you're so…different,” Harry continued.


“It'd be boring if we weren't,” Ron countered, taking Blaise's hand under the table and entwining their fingers. “Sometimes different is good, mate. Sometimes different is what you need.”


Harry, not so discreetly, eyed Draco, and Blaise didn't bother hiding his smirk.


No one knew why they kept their story a mystery, and it drove them all mad. One day they barely spared a glance for one another, and the next they were walking down Diagon Alley, hand in hand, with a fond smile on their lips. Ron had come up with a series of ludicrous stories, just for the fun of it, saying he had saved Blaise from a herd of rabid goats or that they had met in a toe wrestle championship. Even Neville, Seamus and Pansy had an ongoing ten galleon bet to see if anyone could come up with a barmier story than Ron.


The truth was, before they got together, Blaise had taken up to attending muggle clubs, searching for company, for a pull, for something that could erase the feelings that overcame him at night. But it didn't matter how many men or women he took home. Whether he was in a party full of people or with a stranger tangled in his sheets, loneliness would still always sneak up on him. That was until one of those nights, as he sat at the bar, gulping down burning-hot drinks, a freckled, bearded redhead took the seat beside him.


Blaise didn't believe in love at first sight or happily ever afters. Those were nothing more than silly nonsense whispered by fairies into the ears of the dreamy and naive; he was neither. But that night, for some unknown reason, they stayed seated next to each other in silence. The indifference that had been written across his face slowly melted away and was replaced by curiosity. Curiosity to know why Ron's eyes held the same tinge of sadness as his.


The need to drown his tormenting thoughts in whiskey was forgotten as the minutes ticked by. Subtly, their hands inched dangerously closer, until their pinky fingers were barely touching, until the soft hairs on Ron's forearm tickled Blaise's. Soon they were close enough that, even among the strong smell of cigarettes, he could easily note Ron's scent; like a forest after a rainy day. It became more and more difficult to pretend they didn't notice their mutual staring. And for Blaise, it certainly became impossible to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest.


Two hours later, they were sitting facing one another in a somewhat dismal tea shop, drinking bitter coffee and eating overly sweet scones as droplets fell against the window. Their rather gloomy conversation about their haunting fears wasn't an attempt to cheer each other up or an exchange of sympathetic words. It was a mere statement that they both shared the fear of loneliness, of being undeserving. Funnily enough, knowing Ron felt the same, knowing he wasn't the only one had comforted Blaise.


Shy hands entwined, a chaste kiss on the lips under the pouring rain, an invitation to share a bed. It had been too sudden, but at the same time, it felt as if they had been waiting an eternity for it to happen.


He knew why Ron never told the right story. It was because that rainy February night, when it had all clicked into place, they had made a connection so different from the one they had with their friends, and so unlike the one they had had with previous lovers. Harry and the rest of their friends could think whatever they liked—that they were an odd couple, a match made by Godric on crack—but Blaise and Ron knew the bond they had wasn’t something one could find in every corner.


“It's Malfoy's turn to bring the nips,” Harry announced, snapping Blaise back to the present. “Er, I mean, pints! I don't want to see–unless you want me to see…I don't have anything against your nipples, I bet they're nice to look at.”


Thankfully, before Harry could embarrass himself further, Draco took him by the wrist and disappeared in the direction of the loos in the middle of wolf-whistles and roaring cheers. Blaise didn't waste a second. A whispered proposition and a kiss behind Ron's ear was enough for them to escape their distracted friends and apparate home.


They hadn't finished materializing yet and they were already wrapped in one another, already kissing and caressing. It didn't matter if they had apparated in the living room or in kitchen, the moment they stood on a solid surface, their feet automatically led them toward the bedroom.


Blaise remembered a time when no lights were allowed as they made love, a time when a lack of self-confidence burdened Ron's shoulders. But now, as the door closed behind them, Ron mindlessly conjured spheres of soft, golden lights to float above them before taking off his jumper and shirt. And such a simple, wordless act entailed so much trust, it made Blaise's heart swell with love and pride knowing he was the one to see a side of Ron no one else got to see.


“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer, as he carefully traced the lines of Ron's shoulders and neck.


“Not in the last three hours,” Ron said, taking him by the waist to pull him closer.


They kissed again, soft and gentle, their fully hard cocks rubbing against one another with each roll of their hips. Blaise felt his shirt being unbuttoned, felt rough, calloused palms running down his chest, emitting heat that traveled all the way to his core.


He walked Ron further into the room, never once pulling apart, until the back of his thighs bumped softly against the boudoir—Ron kept calling it “vanity” just to annoy him—on the opposite wall.


“Three hours, hm?” he whispered, turning Ron around to face the mirror. “It's time I remind you, then.”


Under the golden lights, the dimple on Ron's left cheek deepened as he smiled shyly, and his chin trembled lightly when Blaise kissed the tiny freckle, shaped like a T-Rex, Ron was so proud of—the one right under the nape of his neck. Under the golden lights, Blaise kissed Ron's shoulder as his fingertips caressed their way down his arms, tracing the tentacle-like scars that never faded properly. Under the golden lights, they looked at each other's eyes through the mirror as Blaise lifted Ron's hand to kiss his wrist, as he dragged his thumb along Ron's bottom lip.


“Look at you,” Blaise murmured, running his palm down Ron's chest. “Do you see how perfect you are?”


“I'm not,” Ron countered, his breathing growing heavier.


“Yes, you are.” Expert fingers unbuckled and undid Ron's trousers in a matter of seconds. When Blaise's hand sneaked under his pants and closed around his cock, Ron let his head fall back, sighing almost in relief.


“You're beautiful,” he kept whispering, caressing Ron's exposed neck as he stroked him, as he grinded his hips against Ron's arse. “Perfect.”


Maybe scars and a soft tummy were a blemish in the eyes of those who abided by the beauty standards society imposed. But for Blaise, who grew up in many households with people with a beautiful exterior but a hideous interior, found Ron's beauty to be unique. Unique because his soul and personality, so luminous and lively, could dim the brightest of stars.


“Look at us, love.” Ron opened his eyes, and their reflections’ gazes met for a brief moment before traveling down their bodies. “Look how good we are together.”


He pulled Ron's trousers and pants down, and continued stroking him, adding a twist of the wrist on the base of his cock, spreading the bead of precome over the tip.


“Blaise….” His deep moans had a shiver run up Blaise's spine, had the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Ron tried to reach back to undo Blaise's trousers, but as much as he wanted to take him right that instant, it wouldn't do to rush things up. He wanted to hold back and take his time, to take him apart little by little until no word other than his name spilled from Ron's lips.


Shh. I'll take care of you, Ron,” he whispered, gently pushing him away. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”


With a shaky sigh, Ron nodded and leant forward, gripping the edge of the boudoir as he thrusted into Blaise's fist, his legs already starting to quiver. Sensing he was getting closer to the edge, Blaise let go of his cock, chuckling softly at Ron's frustrated groan and unbuckling his belt.


“Always such a tease,” Ron said, reaching for the extra jar of lube they kept in the top drawer, his voice tinted with more amusement than reproach.


“Should I stop?” Blaise asked with a smirk, peppering kisses along his back and pulling his trousers and pants down, leaving them to pool around his ankles.




And there it was again, the dimple on his left cheek, the gleam in his eyes, the adorable blush on his ears…it was breathtaking.


Forgetting all notion of taking things slow, Blaise turned Ron around and kissed him fiercely, their mouths sucking and their teeth nibbling at their lips. Their hands, touching every inch of skin they could reach, and the friction between their cocks ripped groans of delight from their throats. Blaise hadn't noticed Ron opening the jar of lube—too busy taking in the scent of his skin, the lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue—until a hand, hot and slick, closed around Blaise's cock.


“Fuck, Ron.”


“Yeah, I'm planning to do that later, baby.”


Their huffed laughs quickly turned into moans as their cocks slid into Ron's fist, as they kissed and watched their reflections. The sheen of sweat on their skin gleamed softly under thes spheres of lights, still floating above them, and Blaise thought he could spend hours like this. How could he ever tire of it when it was so mesmerizing, so wonderful, to see how perfectly they fit together?


Their movements became more needy and desperate, their voices reduced to gasps and whispered praise. Sparks traveled through their skin, muscles tensed, and soon enough, they were both spilling on each other's throbbing cocks. The heaving of their chests and heartbeats eased as they stood there, kissing lazily between soft smiles and contented sighs.


After taking a deep breath, Ron lowered to his knees and helped Blaise step off his shoes and ruined trousers. It was impossible to stop his cock from stirring at the sight, and it didn't help matters to have Ron kissing his thighs and caressing his calves. From the trousers’ front pocket, Ron took Blaise's wand and, with a careful but tingling spell, cleaned the stickiness off their skin. Wordlessly, Ron led him to the bed, spheres of light following, and discarded Blaise's wand on the nightstand before pulling him under the blankets.


Blaise's head on Ron's arm, their legs entwined, Ron's hand around Blaise's waist; they always fell into place like pieces of a puzzle only they knew how to solve.


“Are you aware of how much I love you?” Ron murmured, pressing his lips against Blaise's forehead.


“Probably not more than I do,” he countered.


“I knew we were meant for each other when we met in that gang bang….”


Blaise locked his gaze to Ron's. Ten full silent seconds passed before Ron erupted with laughter, congratulating himself for his wit and already wishing someone asked how they got together next pub night. Under the golden lights, Blaise chuckled as he watched Ron's bright smile, his joyful eyes, and his ruffled hair. The thought of spending the rest of his life like this floated to the front of his mind. And Blaise wanted it, a lifetime with Ron. He had never been more certain.