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Dark Horse (Mim and Grimoire)

Blaise's hands were warm and strong, and she was shaking so that she didn't notice his slight tremble. Maggie worked hard, tensed all of her muscles to control the head-to-toe slight tremble, but couldn't quite. He was the only thing in the world at that moment, filling her senses and blinding her to anything that might've existed both before and after.

The taste of his kiss was warm and subtle, but more overwhelming was how he felt. How his lips felt against her tongue, how very aware she was of every fiber in his shirt as she bunched it in her fists. (She knew he wouldn't appreciate that, and it was a very fine cardigan, but she had other concerns at the moment.) Most of all were his hands, their warmth and strength and just how experienced they seemed. Maggie was hyper aware of just where his hands were, and as one traveled toward her underwire and the other toward her waistband she cautiously, shyly pressed the tip of her tongue against his lips, pleading uncertainly for entrance.

Each breath seemed deeper than the last; she was going to run out of it sooner or later. To avoid feeling lightheaded she shifted her focus from his hands to her own. Slowly she unclenched her fingers from Blaise's sweater and slid her palms over his shoulders, up to cup the back of his neck. It was difficult to resist the urge to grab and to hang on for dear life, especially when he pressed his body against hers. Almost instinctively Maggie's hips pressed against his and...

Oh...

Oh...

Oh goodness...

It wasn't that she didn't want him; the hot ache in her loins would attest to that. If it hadn't been for some little part of her brain that kept one eye on reason, she would have happily given Blaise anything his heart desired in that moment, and taken in return anything he allowed. But prudence and fear won out.

-Wait.- The word hadn't appeared on the slate. As Maggie taught him how to sign, she gradually took away words reduce his reliance on her written word. The sign was firm, a quick circular motion of both fists moving in opposite directions. Even as her chest heaved and her eyes clouded with desire, still she looked apologetic.

I know it's not sexy and I'm probably bollocksing everything up, she said, hands still shaking and a little clumsy, but maybe we should talk real quick? About...I dunno... Expectations...? Her face, already flushed with passion, blushed a deeper shade of vermilion and she had to fight the very strong urge to look away in mortification.
 
The press of her tongue was received quickly by Blaise, his mouth opening to her own. She tasted like sweet coffee, a dessert that came rarely but was always so very appreciated when it did. It was a touch that emboldened him, and she could feel one hand slip around her back, tracing the underwire of her bra to find where it might eventually lead to the clasp--

He couldn't help but marvel in just how... small Maggie seemed against him. That mattered so much more just then than his cardigan, than the zabaione left to warm on the table, than all the other little concerns he might have had a few minutes ago. How slight she seemed, her body splayed against his hands, his chest, and as by reflex they pressed their hips to one another, and she could feel the strain against those trousers of his -- he felt a sudden thrill of exhilaration at just what would happen if he was allowed to go just that one step further, to spread bare pale legs over either hip--

--Wait--

The word came through in not only the sign, which he did not see, but in the sudden absence of her hands, the withdrawal of her tongue. He tried to follow it for but a brief moment, his perception addled by a haze of pure desire, but it was but a split second later that he was pulling back. His breath was heavy, his hand drawing itself over his face briefly as if to wipe a sheen of sweat away that wasn't there.

"I... what?" he asked, a step or so behind the curve. He wet his lips with his tongue, getting one hand on the back of the couch so he could pull away just enough to give her some breathing room. "Yes... right. What.. what are you thinking? We don't have to go... further, if you're not ready," he said. It was a struggle, and there was a part of him that didn't mean those words at all. That wanted to just cover her mouth with his hand as he pulled her trousers down to her knees to take what he wanted. But the right words, the right thing to say, that was what was important, and he wasn't near drunk enough to forget the words.
 
I...I'm not, Maggie admitted shamefacedly, chalk shaky on slate as her hands still quivered. I want you Blaise. God! I really do. You don't know how much. But this...it's all new to me. She would have covered her face with her hands if she hadn't needed them to speak. She felt almost ready to cry in embarrassment. What was a timid little country mouse like her doing with someone like him, anyway? Who did she think she was? She took a deep breath and held it, summoning up all her courage to be frank.

Tonight's a first everything for me, Blaise. You're my first everything. She couldn't do it anymore. Maggie ducked her head and looked away, unable to risk it. Unable to watch him laugh at her, or look at her with pity. She sniffed thickly and swallowed hard, but managed to keep it together so long as she didn't have to watch him decide she wasn't worth it after all. I really like you. A lot. She kept her hands as close to her chest as she could, her movements tight and timid. Her handwriting matched. And I don't want tonight to end now, but I just...I don't want to move too quickly, y'know? I'm not exactly a "wait for marriage" kinda girl, but it's just...when I've never even... The board began to write and erase over and over as she started and stopped, trying to find the words. She couldn't tell him the truth, that even now a small part of her suspected that it was just a game to him, just another conquest.

Nobody's ever touched me. And I want you to. But I'm scared. And now I feel stupid for ruining a perfectly good evening.

That was the best she could do. Maggie curled her hands into tight fists and pulled them against her chest in an apparent attempt to disappear into herself as much as physically possible. The only reason she hadn't pulled her knees up to her chest too was because Blaise was currently kneeling between them. She had pulled her chin to her chest, averting her eyes as she felt the hard, deep blush creep up to her hairline, over her ears, and down her neck.
 
Blaise wasn't sure what feeling was welling up in his chest, in the back of his throat. Disappointment, certainly. A little bit of frustration. He had... never been turned down. Not when he was this far, when they were this alone, away from any prying eye that could hope to ever find them. But something else there, that stirred up in him as he saw the girl try to physically collapse inside of herself in an attempt to escape his gaze.

He wasn't so closed-off and cold for the thought to not occur to him. He wasn't so far-removed from the world of actual human connection and emotion -- though perhaps his mother wishes he were -- to not recognize the tell-tale twang of guilt.

He would hurt her if he pressed any further, and Blaise did not want to hurt Maggie Cartwright.

He reached for her slate, plucking it up along with the chalk. He wrote a message in his tidy handwriting, all hard crisp lines, practiced and easy. He reached forward, tucking the slate between her knees and chest so that there was no escaping the pale lines, staring back at her from the flat surface.

Then let me touch you.

He had left the couch when at last she looked up, straightening his cardigan -- he'd become terribly untucked in the preceding activities, and now he was smoothing it back over the smooth, dark muscles she could briefly spy beneath. He still stood out against his trousers, parts of him still anticipating a more entertaining time than they would have. He took a step toward the end of the couch, settling himself down on the very edge, right next to her head. His arm came around, begging entrance around her shoulders... to merely pull her against his ribs, so that she could cushion herself there, warm and soft.

"Just like this. Anything else can wait. Alright?"
 
Maggie stared at the words for a long time. She swallowed several times, fighting the tightness in her throat as she puzzled over the meaning of the simple sentence. Touch her where? How? It was a basic request but one she couldn't grasp, couldn't understand. She barely noticed when he left the couch, still staring at the slate. Blaise didn't seem to realize the intimacy in his action; nobody but her had ever written on her board. And when he did, she didn't find it offensive or controlling; he'd done it in an attempt to communicate clearly, to get onto her level without forcing her to look at him. He recognized that she was too mortified to look at him, to stare at anything but her own lap, and had adapted.

It was with a sudden, shaky breath that she realized he was gone. Maggie finally looked up and looked around, but he was still there merely straightening himself out. Still at attention--which made her gradually fading blush return with a vengeance--but clearly not in the mood for forcing matters. To her utter surprise, however, instead of getting impatient with her inaction and leaving, he sat beside her and pulled her in close. Blaise spoke slowly and clearly and comprehension dawned while she set the slate aside. All at once she curled into his side, pulling him close and holding him tightly against her. One hand came up, touching her fingertips to her chin just below her lip then making an outward motion over and over.

-Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.-

She'd have been lying if she denied that at least a few tears dropped onto Blaise's sweater, but finally she got herself under control enough to function again. Maggie cleared her throat and sniffed thickly again, lifting her head from his chest and wiping at the few remaining tears that had threatened to turn into a deluge. She pulled her arm back from around him, if nothing else then because it was probably quite uncomfortable for him, and leaned into his ribs and looked up at him. The slate took up its usual vocation once again.

I imagine you probably have, haven't you? she asked. Been with other girls, I mean. It still wasn't the most ideal topic, but it was a conversation that needed to happen and she was rather more comfortable talking about his sexuality rather than her own. It's alright if you have, not that you need my permission. Dunno if I'm even a proper girlfriend or anything. I just... She huffed. Honesty, yeah? She looked up at him again, still pink but no longer on the brink of tears. Thank you, Blaise. You don't know how much it means to me. Not a lot of guys are interested in the first place, so deaf and a virgin? She chuckled, but the word brought the blush back with a vengeance. Sort of a deal-breaker, it seems. One of those cyclical problems.
 
The words were clear. His actions were clean and precise. But the emotions roaring in tumult in his chest, under that fine, well-appointed cardigan, were anything but. It was what he had been taught. The most important lesson of all -- when your mind is unsure, be sure in your actions. Feel the feelings in your body, and try to disperse them while you attended to the matter at hand. There would always be time to deal with that later.

He wasn't looking at her as her hand traced its pattern with fervency. He was looking somewhere straight ahead, lost in other thoughts, as she thanked him for a restraint he hadn't wanted to show.

A hundred thoughts swirled, none of them taking more prominence than the others. Do you fancy her? She wants this, you could probably convince her. It might hurt her. But you want it, too. Could have won the bet right here. But what did that matter? He didn't need the money. He wanted satisfaction.

But it might hurt her--

His arm tightened around her just so, a protective gesture as he turned -- scooting himself back just a bit so that he could actually sit there, taking her place from where she had been so wonderfully pressed against the side of the couch.

He didn't answer her -- it wasn't one he terribly wished to give, not least of which because a few memories came trickling through. Of sticky-sweet summers or cold winters, the twining arms and legs of three different girls, all lovely in their own right. Desperate thrusts of the inexperienced, finding delight in the stolen moments alone. It made his body surge with a sudden shiver, and he found himself crossing his legs at the thought of Maggie and just how tight she would be around him.

But there was one truth that did come bubbling up. He hadn't been friends with the other girls. That was truth enough.

"... a few," Blaise finally admitted. "For honesty. But... I like being around you, more." His arm tightened around her just so. No great admission of affection, but-- "... it's to their great loss that they haven't."
 
Maggie smiled weakly. He had answered honestly, and that just gave her more questions. Questions she had no right to ask. How many? What had he done with them? Were they girls she knew? Was he still involved with them? Had he loved them?

He answered that last question in his own way. If he liked being around her then certainly he wasn't in love with someone else. Not that she was in love of course, that would be silly. How easily she would be giving her heart away! Yet still, she couldn't ignore the fact that Blaise treated her the way few boys had treated her before. She curled up against him, head on his shoulder, knees resting on the side of his lap. His arm tightened around her.

I like being around you, too, she said with a smile. Maggie chewed on her lip for a moment. So I know you like things to be precise, so to clarify you weren't my first date ever. I just sort of count it as such. She looked up at him with nothing but trust and honesty. A few guys have asked me out before on a bet or a dare. One of them didn't even wait until I was out of sight before he collected. Asshole. She sighed heavily and shrugged. I guess the Universe was just saving up for better was all. She gave him a small smile and leaned up to kiss him gently.

So um...Not to be that guy, but...what are we, anyway? Maggie chuckled nervously. I just don't wanna, y'know, make you uncomfortable or anything. And my dad probably ought to know if I've got a boyfriend.
 
Saving up for better.

Blaise wasn't typically one to feel much in the way of guilt or shame. And yet, he couldn't help but feel the weight on his shoulders of something new and terrible. Guilt, certainly, trapping him in thick chains made of wrought-irony. His lips were unresponsive against hers for the first second or so, but he returned it belatedly. A brush, his hand catching her fleetingly across her chin.

"... I'm not sure the school is ready to deal with the two of us officially tied together," Blaise said. "The sheer scandal of it might upstage Potter's yearly disruption of... everything." He said it with a small smile as he turned onto his other hip, his arm tightening around her just so.

"But as far as I'm concerned... I don't wish to see anyone else right now. I want to see where this goes."
 
Maggie chuckled at the thought of a new relationship detracting from Harry Potter, and how he might take it. The Chosen One, they were calling him. She just hoped it wasn't going to his head. Still at Blaise's gentle let-down she couldn't help but feel her heart sink. She shouldn't, she knew. She'd given him the option, and he'd taken the out. It wasn't only about what she wanted. Still, it was disappointing and her smile faded a little more quickly than usual despite his arm tightening around her. It was a comfort to know that he didn't want to see anyone else, that he wanted to see how it turned out. How they turned out.

Well then in that case, she said, snuggling in a little closer. I don't mind saying that I was perfectly fine with where we were. I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page. I wouldn't mind revisiting our earlier programming. She crinkled her nose briefly, cutely, and her teeth grazed his bottom lip ever-so-lightly. Unless you're more concerned about dessert?
 
He lost the question "programming?" under the gentle grind of her teeth, dark eyes glancing sidelong over at the slate as it asked a question. The first question in some time that he found ever-so-easy to deal with-- He was not shy in moving her, adjusting her with his arms, so that she was pulled straight against his body once more. His hand smoothed itself through her hair, finding himself in more familiar territory as his lips pressed against her own.

"Mm. I find you sweeter, if I'm being honest," Blaise said, his lips closing over hers before she had much time to contemplate the sheer cheesiness of the line. His hands closed around her lower back -- the kiss was gentler, less heated than before... but carrying with it a comfort. That they would see where this went, that they would consider all else later--

-----------

In the Slytherin Common room sometime over the next few nights, Blaise found Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy heir had been up at odd hours in recent days, that much anyone could discern. It was even often that he would outlast Crabbe and Goyle, his erstwhile apes who apparently needed their beauty sleep. Emphasis on need. Blaise found him poring over some odd book or another, a leather tome of unclear origin.

Blaise had had a bit of time to get his thoughts together. After taking Maggie back to her room elsewhere in the castle, Blaise had had a few days just to consider what it was he wanted to do. It was a problem to be solved. He wasn't sure how he felt about Maggie. He wasn't sure he could call her his girlfriend, or anything more than a friend... but that was the point, wasn't it? She was his friend, or near enough to one that he would find some guilt in trading her dignity for coin. To lie to her, to lead her on, that was another thing. That was just communication.

But money was mercurial. Holding control of the situation, that was important.

And so a bag of coins landed on the table in front of Draco with a heavy clink.

"You win, Malfoy," Blaise said simply.
 
Draco leaned over an ancient leather book with cramped writing, head in hand, hair ruffled, a slight sheen on his skin where he'd forgotten to shower yesterday. So much to do. So much to figure out. So much... He could practically feel the dark circles forming under his eyes as he sat there, reading the same line he'd moved his eyes over seven ten fourteen times. He couldn't focus. But he had to. Myrtle had warned him that if he worked too hard he'd burn out, but that was just because she didn't know any better. She'd been moping around in her eternal pity party going on fifty years, she'd probably forgotten what it was like to work this hard.

That was an uncharitable thought about the only person he could talk to about this stuff. Maybe he did need a break.

That break came in the form of a small sack of gold. Draco stared at it for a moment, unseeing at first and then perplexed as to why it was there.

"You win, Malfoy."

Zabini. He blinked and looked up at him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "I win?" It was genuine perplexity. "Not like you to give up on a wager; it's the principle of the thing after all. And I've never known a girl to turn you down. What happened?" He had a few ideas, but one in particular settled in his mind and a slow grin tugged at his sagging face. "Good lord! Don't tell me she's a dyke as well?" He laughed sharply. "She is, isn't she? Oh God that's rich!" He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the sweat and sleep, and shook his head. "And not even you have the power to turn her back is that it?"
 
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