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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 16229 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is entirely the property of J.K. Rowling. I claim no ownership over it. I make no money in the writing of this story.

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Harry is a workaholic, and a bit of a lonely loser...I'm sorry! I don't know how that happened! It just flowed out of my fingers.

This is the plottier chapter. You must tell me what you think, because I'm afraid everyone will hate me for making Harry a lonely loser.

Do people play pool in England?...O_o

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HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE

An HP fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 4

It was morning now. Birds chirped outside the window, and Harry wondered, where was Blaise’s flat located? It must not be quite in the center of the city. Or maybe Blaise lived near a park.

He stepped into the steamy bathroom, and grabbed hold of the dark hand that reached out of the cloud of steam. He gasped when the hot water spilled down his body, and then moaned.

“Good, mm?”

Strong hands worked into Harry’s shoulders, hard, smoothly working the kinks out of his muscles. Harry sighed and let his head fall back to thud against Blaise’s shoulder. It felt weird to be in the shower with someone, but Blaise’s hands were soo good.

He reached for the soap, washing himself. Blaise’s hands moved down from his shoulders to his back, where thumbs pressed and kneaded hard, making Harry grunt. Then they were on his buttocks, and Harry moaned at the inviting touch.

Thank god it was Saturday, and he didn’t have to go to work all sore like this. Aurors didn’t have weekends, technically, but since Harry’s first year when he’d been a workaholic, his boss had forced him to take off at least one day a week, two when it was bad.

Harry heard a rattle from his right, and his gaze caught Blaise’s wand in his peripheral vision.

Immediately his Auror instincts reacted. Harry had no wand, but he’d learned how to disarm quickly. He pivoted sideways, snapping his arm down in one hard chop to the arm that held the wand. He heard a crack and a cry, and the wand fell to the floor. He shot his elbow hard into Blaise’s belly, and whirled around, ready to send his knee cracking against the side of Blaise’s head.

The dark man swore loudly, holding his stomach, and put one hand up in a waiving gesture. “Auror,” he grit through his teeth in pain, “Right?”

Harry was breathing heavily. He stared down at Blaise’s wand on the floor, and then back at Blaise. He lowered his knee. The dark man remained in position, one arm still up, and his other grasping his wounded stomach. He groaned in pain, and looked up at Harry.

His eyes were those of someone innocent. Harry felt uncertainty rush into him. He stared at Blaise, still shaking from the intensity of thinking he’d been suddenly betrayed, attacked. “What were you going to do with that?” he asked about the wand.

Blaise took a deep, whistling breath through his nose. “I was going to help your soreness with a spell. But now, if you’ll let me, I’m going to help myself.”

He made no move to get his wand, but Harry barked out, “Don’t touch it.”

Quickly, Harry leaned down and snatched the wand from the floor. Then he pressed it against Blaise’s belly, between two of Blaise’s fingers. He stared down at the other man, who stared back, and then he whispered a healing spell. Magic erupted yellow from the wand, and sunk into Blaise’s body past his fingers.

Blaise sighed in relief as the spell worked itself. He lowered his arms very slowly. “May I stand up now? Merlin, you scared the shit out of me. What the fuck was that?”

Even though he’d said he was scared, Harry was surprised with how well Blaise was taking it. He was calm, and he had made no quick moves, as if he knew those would only make Harry warier. Harry supposed it was obvious, though, if you had done any dueling, or met any Aurors. They were always overly cautious, and Harry was the same.

What stood out most to him though was that Blaise, an associate of dark wizards (and son to an arguably Dark Arts practiced witch) who must be familiar with the Dark Arts in some way, had made no move to defend himself. It was something only an innocent person would do. And someone who wasn’t ruthlessly trained by Voldemor or others to kill.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, “I acted instinctively.”

He held a hand out to help Blaise up, but the man did not take it. He stood up on his own. Frowning, he looked at Harry through the still-running water path. “You acted instinctively, because you weren’t sure you were safe. In other words, you don’t trust me enough to know that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Anger flared in Harry. He bit out, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you?”

Blaise shoved his left arm forward. “Do you see a Dark Mark? No. I was never in alliance with Voldemort, or any of his Death Eaters. Not even Malfoy. I know you’re thinking that. And just because I’m attending his wedding today and I’m friends with Parkinson doesn’t mean I’m some criminal. Trust me.”

Harry sighed. Blaise was right. Just because this man was Slytherin, just because of the past, Harry had moved. Not every person lifting a wand made Harry freak out. It was his positioning, wand-less and with a person behind him, and his lack of knowledge about Blaise, that had made him react.

Harry’s shoulder’s sagged. “I can’t,” he said hoarsely, “I’m sorry.” Nevertheless, he handed back Blaise his wand.

Blaise looked like he might answer sharply, nostrils flaring and brows furrowed, opening his mouth, and then he closed it. “Alright,” he said, “I understand. I haven’t proven myself better, I suppose. My mother has killed loads of people, after all, and everyone knows it. Therefore I’m assumed to be carved from the same wood. Well, the answer is that I’m not. Let me invite you to a dinner, and we can start getting to know each other better. I promise it’s actually dinner, and not some scheme to kill you.”

Harry didn’t react to the joke. His mouth dropped open. Dinner? He thought Blaise just wanted sex.

“Um, don’t you have that wedding to go to?”

“Tonight, yes. But I’m free tomorrow evening. Are you?”

Harry nodded dumbly. He had nothing planned, not even a drinking night with Ron or a visit to the Burrow, or any of his visits to other friends. Tomorrow he was free as a bird, unless he got called into the office.

“Yes.”

Blaise relaxed, his body seeming to loosen. He stepped forward, and pressed his hands over Harry’s cheeks as if to pull him into a kiss. “Good. Now can we resume where we were?”

Harry nodded, swallowing. “Yes.”

And Blaise’s hands were on him again, massaging his entire body, down from his arse to his legs, and back up. He cast the spell to heal, and immediately Harry felt the soreness decrease. Blaise finished before him, and went to prepare breakfast. Harry showered thoroughly, transfigured a toothbrush, and when he was done cleaning up, he put his clothes back on, and stepped out the ajar bedroom door.

He was in a long hallway which had wizarding portraits and paintings on it. On the left was a room filled to the brim with so many things that Harry wasn’t sure what to call it in his mind. A large shelf filled with jars of ingredients seemed to beg, Potions room. A desk on the other side with papers piled high said office. And a motley collection of magical artifacts piled, tangled, and tilted against an entire wall said storage room. There were more bookshelves filled with books, and another rich marble fireplace.

Harry pulled himself away from this interesting room and stepped through a large archway on the right. Sunlight poured in the kitchen through a window and a skylight. Another glass door and balcony was in front of Harry, beyond a kitchen and a dining room. Stained glass on either side of the glass door and above it colored the cupboards and dining table shades of red, green, blue, and orange. He decided Blaise’s flat was overall an odd mix of elegant and homey. He liked it.

He met Blaise at the table on the balcony, and sat down across from him. He was struck by the absence of house elves, remembering that Blaise came from a rich family. But he had said he was a bastard, hadn’t he? And his mother had come into money by marrying over and over for it; perhaps Blaise hadn’t been brought up wealthy.

Breakfast was quiet, at first, and then Blaise put down his cup of steaming potion and leaned across towards Harry.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

Harry was startled by the question. He sipped his coffee and nibbled at his treacle tart a moment. He wasn’t sure if Blaise meant to ask if Harry was happy in general, or if Harry was happy after spending the night with Blaise.

He looked over the rim of his mug and said, “Yes. I’m happy.” He smiled to prove it.

Blaise took a sip of his drink. “Good. The nightmares, then?”

Harry shifted in his chair, and looked away. There was a beautiful park across the street from Blaise’s building. According to Blaise, it was a magical park, and was spelled to be avoided by Muggles. They couldn’t even see it. All they saw was a potholed, old parking lot. To wizards and witches, it was a popular place to hang out, dance, and hold events. You could find pixies in it, Blaise said, and other magical creatures.

“The nightmares,” Harry sighed, “are just there. They aren’t making my life particularly any worse. They were, before, but…now I’m just resigned. I’ve gotten sort of used to them. I take Sleeping Draughts sometimes.”

“Hmmm.” Blaise sat back in his chair. “Do you talk to people about them?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really, no. Lupin, sometimes. And Hermione. That’s about it.”

“I see. Well, if it’s any comfort, I have them, too.”

Harry wondered what about, but he didn’t say anything. He imagined with a mother as ruthless as he’d heard Blaise’s was, something ugly was in the Slytherin’s past. He finished his coffee and said, “Can I see the park?”

He followed Blaise’s ambling gait out of the flat – which apparently, was spelled to be invisible but not quite Unplottable like Grimmauld Place. Everyone thought that Blaise was roommates with the blonde witch next door, who lived comfortably amongst the majorly Muggle occupants of the building. They reached the park, and Harry sighed and sat down right in the grass. He lay back, smiling.

Blaise sat down beside him. “I wonder what makes you enjoy this so much,” he said. “It’s just a bit of sun and trees.”

Harry scowled. “Are you a reporter? Stop it.”

The Slytherin assented. Silent, he lay down next to Harry, and shifted so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Harry cracked his eyes open and found the Blaise had his eyes closed. Good. He wasn’t some curious, curious person that wanted each and every one of Harry’s thoughts and secrets.

Harry didn’t know why, but suddenly he found his hand creeping down to grab a hold of Blaise’s hand. The other man brushed his thumb over Harry’s hand, and then suddenly he rolled on his side and said, “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

“What?” Harry felt like he’d broken some wall that Blaise had put up, when he’d grabbed his hand. He wished he hadn’t, and tried to pull away, but Blaise’s hand held his hard.

“This. The park. Inviting someone to dinner…”

“Well,” Harry tried to work saliva into his mouth beyond his angry and jittery feelings, “Why are you doing it, then? No one’s asking you. Don’t think I’m some sap. I can enjoy a good night’s sex and then leave, it’s fine.”

Blaise laughed. “Right. You’d never even been fucked by a man before. I doubt you’ve ever had a fling in your life, draped over that Weasley girl.”

Harry snorted. “I wasn’t draped. I was stuck. And now I’m free. And I have had a one night stand, mind you, although it was with a woman. She was good. She didn’t make a fuss about my scar or anything.”

“Hmmm.” Blaise contemplated him with an intense stare again. “That’s what it is, isn’t it. So many people want your body or your conversation because of your fame. They don’t actually care about you. They don’t give a flying fuck about Harry, just about Potter.”

He had hit the nail squarely on the head, and it made Harry squirm. It also deflated his anger. “Yeah,” he said shortly.

Blaise frowned, and then some mischief glinted in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed Harry, slowly, but his tongue was passionate. When he pulled away, Harry was gasping.

“You’ve got to stop doubting me, then,” Blaise said, “Because I can give you a time, time of your life, both in bed and out. I’ve got to go get ready now, I’m supposed to bring a gift and have nothing yet. You’re welcome to come with, or stay in the park as long as you like.”

Harry thought about it, but although he was slightly curious what gift Blaise would get the Malfoy couple, he didn’t really care all that much. Plus Blaise seemed to genuinely be Malfoy’s friend, so he might take a while choosing a gift, and Harry wouldn’t be able to appreciate it properly. “No thanks,” Harry said.

“Alright.” Blaise stood up, and turned back to Harry. “I’ll see you later tonight. Come late, after eleven.”

He Apparated out of the park then, and Harry stared up at the windows of Blaise’s apartment, thinking. He thought over what they had done, and reveled in it, until he got hard. Then he took care of that, and thought more on what Blaise had said, rather than on what wonders he’d worked on Harry’s body.

He seemed to understand that Harry needed to be just Harry, and he also seemed to be unafraid that Harry was, well, Harry Potter, and an overly cautious Auror. He liked to tease, but not in an actually biting way. Harry wondered what it would be like to hear Blaise on the radio, and he wondered what it would be like to go to dinner with Blaise tomorrow night.

He Apparated home, and spent the day on errands, shopping, and assorted entertainment (read: Quidditch magazines). He touched a couple case files, but only researched a little so he wouldn’t feel behind if he got called in. He had a leisurely time cooking, because he was bored and had time to spare. When he sat down for dinner, he read the article on Malfoy’s marriage, which was happening right now – it was eight p.m. – and a lot of reporters were there.

Harry snorted. Good. At least they were all over Malfoy right now, instead of him. He had put magical wards on his new flat just in case, but since he wasn’t breaking up with anyone or killing any leftover Death Eaters at the moment, the press wasn’t bothering him lately.

He washed his dishes with spells and then wound up back in his living room. It was an absolute sty at the moment, neglected out of habit, and he tried failingly to make it look a little better. But he’d never been any good at cleaning spells, so more of his time was spent chasing his mop all over his flat, and then cleaning up after that mess, than cleaning the original one.

He sat down grumpily on his couch at nine thirty, and positively itched to go flying. Night flying was amazing. That was the trouble with living in London and not being connected (purposely) to the Floo Network. Anyone having to visit him had to know about the fireplace a few blocks away that was in the flower shop owned by a witch nearby. Harry only let those who were close friends know about it, in an effort to keep the media away.

If he flew alone, he knew he would lose track of time. He always did. But he knew he had to meet Blaise tonight. He wanted to. He eased back on his couch and rested his feet on the arm, and wondered, what would they do tonight? What surface would Blaise fuck him against? He chuckled. And what other wonders did Blaise have, besides that little ring that had stopped Harry from coming? Harry didn’t doubt he had more.

He was half-hard and lost in fantasy when a knock came at the door. Damn!

He leapt up, spelling his hardness away hastily (a spell every man loathed for its pain, and only used when they had to). He was relieved that his Firebolt was locked away in his bedroom closet, so no one could see it, if this were one of his Muggle neighbors. Or maybe it was Blaise? His heart pounded at the thought.

Harry waded through the mess of clothes, case files, magazines, and a couple books. He put way too many work supplies in his room, so he’d started storing clothes (he’d gotten nice clothes out of shopping with Ginny, which was one good thing about her) in the laundry room behind the TV center. They’d flooded out into his living room eventually. He swore as his toe hit the coffee table, and he held his wand tight to his side. Whenever a Muggle neighbor came by, once he saw them through the peep hole, he hid it in a vase that sat on the windowsill by the door.

He peeped out. It was his Muggle neighbors Cecelia and Dan, and they stood with eager smiles and a pizza. Well, he’d already eaten. Harry put his wand away, and then remembered the magical newspaper lying in plain sight on his kitchen table. He sped into the kitchen, shoved the paper in the trash underneath a melon rind, and returned to open the door with a yank.

“Hey,” he said. “I already ate. Sorry.”

Their faces fell, and then Dan piped up, “Well, do you want to watch a game of football? Or we could always go see a movie. We figured you might be lonely, so we wanted to at least share dinner. How are you doing?”

Football, ugh. Harry would much rather watch a game of Quidditch any day!

“Well, um,” Harry scratched the back of his head, “Good. I went to a fun club yesterday. Uh, met someone. An old friend from school. I actually have a date tonight. I’m just sortof…waiting.”

Cecelia’s blonde curls bobbed as she bounced in excitement, and her blue eyes sparkling reminded Harry a little of Dumbledore. “Ooh! A DATE! Who is this old friend?”

Harry bit his lip. “Um. Well, not really a friend, honestly. An acquaintance…that got my attention, heh. He’s, uh, he used to be friends with the resident school bully, actually.”

“He?” A glance dashed between the two. Seriously? They were going to flip their shit over him being bi? Harry squirmed on his doorstep. His neighbors recovered quickly.

“What, so now he’s reformed and decided to be nice? Good, it sounds like you found someone mature. When is he coming over? You’re going out late, aren’t you.”

Cecelia sounded like one of the reporters at the moment, like she wanted all the juicy details. Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, he’s going to a friend’s wedding, so I imagine they’ll be out late celebrating or something, and then I’m going over to his place later.”

“Well, you’re welcome to use up the rest of your waiting time at our place,” Dan said, smiling.

“That would be much better than looking at frustrating case files. But can we go out? I’m going mad inside, at this point.”

“What would you like to do? Something that doesn’t involve eating, since you want to save your appetite for your date.”

Was there innuendo in those words? Harry wasn’t sure. An hour later he found that he was horrible at playing pool, and that a couple people were giving him shifting looks that made him nervous. He decided to call it a night, even though it was only ten, and when his neighbors offered him a ride, Harry said, “Thanks, but I’ll just take a taxi.” Besides, they were having too much fun playing.

He walked further than necessary beyond the block of shops around the pool hall, because he wanted to make sure no one was following him. Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe the shifty-eyed people were reporters, or just plain wizards and witches, not ex Death Eaters or criminals who recognized Auror Potter. Maybe they were even Muggles, and thought it funny that the young man with the mad hair and glasses was awful at pool. Still, he was relieved when he rounded the corner by a liquor store with a flashing neon light, and was able to Apparate home with no mishap.

As he sat on his bed, he realized how damn lonely he was. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Friends had always given him things to do, places to go, people to see. Ginny had occupied him, because hell, dating took effort.

He’d had a nice first month of living alone here though, really. He’d purposely hung out with his Muggle neighbors in order to get away from his taxing friends who wanted to understand or control him, and because they were fun. It was amazing to be with Muggles who weren’t like the Dursleys.

He’d liked the feel of being independent and being able to do whatever the hell he wanted without having to worry about conflicting schedules, telling someone where he was going, or making sure he spent enough time with so-and-so. And without being attached via dating to Ginny, he could visit the Burrow when he wanted, not all the time. He loved the Burrow, but in the last couple weeks of his and Ginny’s being together, it had become hell.

George was constantly popping up and making dirty jokes. Ron was always smiling at Harry, pleased to see him with Ginny, and Hermione was always casting worried looks between Harry and Ginny, because she’d known how often they were exploding at each other at their shared flat in the country. The worst of all though, was not Molly Weasley, as Harry had thought it would be. She was just as kind as always. The worst was Arthur Weasley, always chirping at Harry about taking care of Ginny, not knowing how exasperated Harry was with his little girl, and always being gone at work when she went crying to Hermione.

Harry regretted all the times he’d made her cry. He hadn’t yelled at her that much, but they had grated on each other so much that time spent together had become unbearable. She wanted the happy, smooth family life that Harry had always thought he’d wanted, but with his dangerous Auror job, and Ginny trying to force him happy even when he wasn’t, he felt completely opposite of who she wanted him to be, and who she thought he would be.

Life wasn’t all swell, and Harry didn’t know how to make it like that, for himself or Ginny. After everything he had experienced, it infuriated him that Ginny expected everything to fall nicely into place for him. He was Harry Potter, the fates were against him. Plus, life just didn’t work like that. You had to work at it. Perhaps that had been the real problem. Harry hadn’t wanted to work to make life with Ginny pleasant, after a while. It took too much effort.

Seeing Blaise had made Harry realize that a lot of what he’d being doing in the past month was compensation for loneliness. And the fact that he’d grown up with the Dursleys, battled Voldemort for years, and spent his first year an Auror working his arse off probably didn’t help. He was realizing that he didn’t really know what to do alone, and maybe it was bad for him? Merlin.

What had he done in his month alone? He’d gone drinking with Ron. That had passed time and It had been good to reminisce, vent, and just spend time with his old friend. He’d danced in clubs, which was always fun, really, but mostly, he realized, he enjoyed the interactions with the crowds. He’d also gotten in the habit of milling around at the Leaky Cauldron and other places, just to talk to people, when he wasn’t working. And as for work, he’d thrown himself into it more in the last three months – two with Ginny, one without – than he had since he first got the Auror title. (His first year at work, he’d been famous for always working and never taking a break.)

It was messed up, and, Harry realized, it wouldn’t last him very long, this happiness. It was short-lived, lonely, and he didn’t like feeling like he was on bad terms with his friends. He wasn’t. Some were even supportive of Harry’s breakup with Ginny, like Seamus, Luna, and Neville. But Ron and Hermione continued to insist that he and Ginny were meant to be together.

Harry sighed, and turned to eye his Firebolt in his closet. It had been far too long. Where could he go to fly? There were a number of places. He could fly to Blaise’s flat, but it was too far, really. And he wasn’t sure how he was going to know when Blaise was home. Blaise couldn’t very well Apparate to Harry’s flat, not knowing anything of its whereabouts. It was up to Harry to meet them up, he guessed. Blaise had said after eleven.

It was suddenly eleven thirty, and Harry realized he’d better show up soon. He threw on a pair of nicer pants, wrestled himself into a tight black turtleneck, and attempted to calm his hair, which never, ever worked. His mirror commented on his utter failure, and Harry kicked the leg. He only ended up hurting himself, and the mirror chastised him.

By the time Harry was checking on his wards, it was eleven thirty five. When he was done with that, it was nearly midnight. If Blaise wasn’t done celebrating Malfoy’s wedding, then so be it. Harry would be waiting for him when he arrived, naked, draped across something interesting.

With a sigh, Harry ambled into his living room. Already he was tense from just a day alone with himself. Ugh. He felt so pathetic! Ugh. He considered not even going to Blaise’s, but then he told himself, “You have to go, or you’ll only feel worse. Just do it.”

He shut his eyes, and Apparated with a resounding crack.

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More soon, hopefully. Spanking next. Is anyone adverse to food play? I've never written it before and am considering putting it in the next chapter.
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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire