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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 16228 -:- 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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The first line and scene of this fic just popped into my head today, and I had to write it. I'm almost done with it already! I usually don't write more than one fic at the same time, but ah well. My other WIP is "Every You, Every Me" with Harry, Blaise, and Draco.

Apologies for cheesy, funny title.

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HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE

an HP fic

by lordoberon

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Harry was in a Muggle club having the time of his life when he heard the word “Hogwarts.”

He didn’t look around right away. He kept dancing. The music was an intoxicating swirl around him, compounded by the writhing bodies on all sides. He was crushed by them, held by them, swayed by them. Strangers’ hands, strangers who didn’t know his name and didn’t stare at his forehead, caressed him, kissed him, loved him.

They bought him a drink, a few of them one each, until Harry was drunk enough that he wasn’t staggering but he was moving slower on the dance floor. He glided from person to person, dance partner to dance partner, allowing himself the freedom to enjoy each a little before leaving. He enjoyed their gaze on him; he enjoyed their touches, their bodies, their gyrating, and their innocent, magic-less gazes that didn’t want to take more from him than he wanted to give.

It had been a month since he had broken up with Ginny, after two years of dating her after the battle of Hogwarts. He knew that he should be heartbroken, and Ron and Hermione certainly seemed to think so, but…he wasn’t. He wasn’t heartbroken.

He felt rather free, actually. He could be who he wanted to be, without the expectations – of heroism from the press, of normalcy from Ginny. She had thought that now it was all over and he had her, all would be well. But it wasn’t like that. Harry was haunted by nightmares, and he felt constrained rather than comforted at their shared flat, and even at the Burrow.

He’d moved out a month ago, and his life of a single bachelor in London, with loads of people who didn’t know him as Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, but as Harry, their next door neighbor, or Harry, the guy with the mad hair, or Harry, their friend. There were many faces to Harry Potter, but there was only one Harry. Right now, he didn’t feel like his friends wanted Harry around; they wanted Harry Potter, who was enamored with Ginevra Weasley. The Ministry wanted Harry Potter, the hero, the savior of the world. The world wanted Harry Potter, the poster boy, to smile for their cameras, banners, and newspapers.

But Harry, just Harry, wanted to be himself. So he’d been frequenting more and more Muggle places as of late, frustrated by his wizarding world friends. Here he was at a fantastic club, moving to the music, sunk in the sounds and breaths and gliding skin of his fellows, when some silky voice threw out that word, “Hogwarts”, into the atmosphere.

Harry twisted himself around, and his gaze quickly scanned the crowd for someone who looked obviously out of place. That was the best way to find a wizard or witch, although maybe one enjoying this club would have learned how to blend in.

He hoped that whoever it was hadn’t seen him. He was harder to spot without his glasses, which he had replaced with contacts tonight, but his hair still could give him away. Finally, his gaze paused at a woman slumped over the bar. She a wore purple, flowy dress that was almost like a pair of robes, and the painted nails of her hand, lying on the shoulder of the man next to her, matched her dress.

Her head turned, and Harry recognized the pug nose and unpleasant face. Pansy Parkinson. She had dark streaks of makeup spilled down her cheeks, and held a kerchief to her nose which she blew in loudly. Harry was surprised. She must be really a wreck to be out in public like that. He remembered her as being very fussy about makeup (at least, more so than his Gryffindor female friends) in school.

He switched his attention to the man that Pansy was now leaning against drunkenly.

Whoa. The man was gorgeous, young, with dark skin. He had a body like a Seeker, slender, but he was tall. His hair spilled over his shoulders in dark, messy waves, and his voice, when Harry snuck closer, was like an elegant, expensive wine. The voice alone made Harry want to get in bed with him.

Harry swallowed, and stared openly from a distance. Something about the man was off in his head. Something he was supposed to know. He knew the man must be a wizard, for it was he who had said “Hogwarts”, and perhaps he was an old classmate. But who was he?

The man murmured something to Pansy, whose head dropped like a stone to the bar in front of her. God, she was a mess. The man floated through the crowd, effortlessly, squeezing his way between people, twisting away from curious hands, all the way until he stood, quite suddenly, right in front of Harry.

“Harry Potter.” The man smiled, and Harry felt himself caught by that flash of white teeth, the perfect, full lips, and the glint in his dark, dark eyes.

He held out his hand, and Harry gripped it firmly, giving it a good shake. He had stared enough, and he didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of this gorgeous dreamboat. Even if the man had shattered his little world away from wizarding reality.

“Blaise Zabini,” the name shot from Harry’s mouth even as his brain fired the realization into him. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Blaise smirked. Harry wanted to capture that smirk in his hand and then kiss it away with his mouth. “I think it was, what, Sixth year the last we saw each other?”

“The Slug Club,” Harry laughed.

Blaise smiled at him again, and tipping his drink towards Harry, he downed it. “Come join us.”

Harry nodded. As he followed Blaise back towards the bar, he took in Blaise’s outfit. Snug black jeans hugged a round, perfect ass, and were paired with a tight black tank. A Slytherin-green vest displayed broad shoulders and showed off a slim waist. The black, sparkling belt matched the heeled boots that only made Blaise seem taller.

“Pansy, Potter. Potter, Pansy. Now sit.”

Blaise pulled up a barstool on his side opposite Pansy. Harry looked over at the woman, who had only nodded dully in Harry’s direction before sinking back into her drink.

Harry raised his brows at that and whispered to Blaise, “What’s wrong with her?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Best not to talk about it.” He ordered another drink, a green and pink thing in a glass with an umbrella, and as he sipped it, he eyed Harry.

Harry felt himself flushing involuntarily as Blaise took him in, and he decided to order another drink, too. When it came, he dared to look back to Blaise.

“What happened to the glasses, Potter?”

Harry shrugged, taking a gulp before putting his drink back down. “They get tiresome sometimes. Plus, they make me stand out like a light bulb in the dark.”

Blaise’s brow furrowed. “Like a what?”

Oh, that was right. He had to remind himself he was talking to a wizard. After nearly a month of only occasional talks with Ron and Hermione, Harry had sunk a little too deeply into Muggle life. Wizards wouldn’t be familiar with light bulbs, would they? Unless they were Arthur Weasley.

“Er…never mind. Point being, they bug me sometimes, so I’ve switched to Muggle contacts. For the night, at least.”

Blaise sat back and took another sip of his drink. At the same time he seemed to study Harry’s eyes, which made Harry nervous and giddy. He couldn’t help it. A handsome man was staring at him…and he’d known for a while he was interested in men as well as women, but he hadn’t done much with any man yet…if he wanted to do anything more than kiss another man, Blaise Zabini would be his first choice.

“’His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad.’ Remember that?”

Harry laughed, but it was more like a bark. “Yes. Ginny sent that to me. I was all of twelve and it was embarrassing as hell.”

The Slytherin read the discomfort in him easily, though Harry tried to hide it by taking another swallow of his drink. “Hmm. Things didn’t work out so well with the youngest Weasley, I presume?”

Harry drank more, and then nodded. “You presume correct.”

He let his chin rest in his hand, feeling a tad dizzy now, and waited for Blaise to speak next, but the Slytherin was engrossed in his drink. He finished it, licking his lips. Harry looked away. The sight of Blaise’s tongue gave Harry way too many ideas. He wanted to kiss Blaise, and dance with him, and have that tongue all over him…a shudder shook through him, and he felt tingles of desire working into him. Shit.

“So,” he said, to distract himself and break the silence, “How’s, um, how are you? What do you do?”

Inwardly he groaned. What do you do was the most boring, obvious question he could have thought of. He’d been around Muggles way too much. That was what they always seemed to ask first. It was all about work. Since Harry was an Auror, he always had to lie to the Muggles. They took his most common response – a joke that, “I’m a secret agent,” accompanied by a smile – quite well.

“I work a couple jobs,” Blaise replied. He was looking at Harry intently as he spoke, and Harry hadn’t been looked at so intently in a long time. If he weren’t attracted to Blaise, the look would have bothered him. It was like Blaise was trying to pick him apart. Harry was reminded distinctly of Severus Snape’s gaze boring into Harry during his Hogwarts days. He squirmed at the memory.

“One job, the one I enjoy least, actually, involves Quidditch. I’m an announcer for games – World Cup, a Hogwarts House Cup, you name it. They hire me according to their needs.”

Harry remembered Ludo Bagman pointing his wand at his throat and casting Sonorus, years ago during the Triwizard tournament. He thought that Blaise’s smooth, seductive voice was far too titillating for a Quidditch game. He couldn’t really imagine Blaise speaking in that quick, urgent, blustery fashion that most sports commentators, including Quidditch ones, used. The thought of Blaise speaking quickly sent Harry into a brief fantasy where Blaise was urging Harry, “Harder, faster,” while Harry fucked him…

This particular thread of thought made Harry’s breath squeezed in his throat, and his jeans were tighter, too. He hoped Blaise wouldn’t notice, and was glad for the dark, smoky environment of the club.

“What’s your other job?”

“Radio. You can thank me for all those horrible warbling Celestina Warbeck tunes. Although I don’t often get to choose what plays. Thank for me for the fast, hot songs with the techno.”

Harry dipped his head in thanks, smiling. “I like those better. Molly Weasley plays too much Celestina Warbeck for anyone’s comfort.”

Blaise laughed. “Still friends with all of them? Except for the girl?”

Harry nodded, grimacing inwardly at the way Ginny was interrupting him, even here, even absent, from enjoying himself freely.

“Blaise, I wanna go soon.” The voice was sulky and high, and startled Harry for a moment, before he saw Pansy’s hand slithering over Blaise’s shoulder and remembered the drunken, depressed woman. Some friend Blaise was being, really, but Harry didn’t mind at the moment if Blaise had dismissed her, since it meant he got the dark Slytherin’s attention, instead.

“Alright, Pansy,” Blaise acceded, and with a nudge of his shoulder he toppled Pansy’s hand off of him. His eyes sparkled in his grinning, gorgeous face as he held out a hand to Harry. “Dance with me.”

Harry left his drink behind, left the world behind, and sped to the dance floor with Blaise holding his hand. But he dropped Harry’s hand when he started dancing to the slow, wailing tune with the hard bass that thumped through Harry’s ears and up into his bones. Harry moved to the tune, shaking his head to the rhythm, twisting and turning, but he was engrossed in Blaise dancing instead of himself and the beat.

The man had his arms raised in the air, his eyes shut, and he moved sinuously like a snake, one movement melding into another. His hips thrust, his forehead beaded with sweat, his hands ran through his hair, down his thighs, and back into the air. The rings on his fingers sparkled in the dim lights as he moved his hands in graceful, swirling motions.

Harry was entranced. He felt his cock pulsing in response to the delectable sight in front of him, and even though he kept moving, his eyes drank and drank in Blaise. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted those graceful hands on his body. He wanted that wetted mouth on his. His cock wanted to grind itself against Blaise’s body, or be tasted by that smooth tongue he’d glimpsed. He bet Blaise was good in bed, had to be, if he could dance like that.

The music beat rushed and got louder. Harry’s hand was grabbed by a smooth, sweaty one, and Blaise pulled him deeper into the crowd, deeper into the intoxicating head rush. They danced apart, and then suddenly together, and Harry couldn’t breathe. Blaise’s dark eyes were locked on his, his mouth whispered Harry’s name, and then his arm was sliding over Harry’s shoulder, pressing Harry into him.

Harry gasped as long, quick fingers touched him, slipped down from his neck over his chest, scraped down his belly, and then Blaise’s long, firm body was pressed up tightly against Harry, even as his hand caressed the hardening tent in Harry’s trousers.

“Mmm. I knew it,” Blaise spoke into Harry’s ear. “That was the only reason I stayed this long. I saw you staring at me, and I read you like a book. I knew you wanted me.”

Harry’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he groaned as Blaise’s fingers bounced his cock, and then twisted with digging fingernails against his thigh. “Do you…do you want me?” he ground out.

It felt like a stupid question, a question someone clueless and vulnerable would ask, but with Blaise’s hand so good and his cologne seeping into Harry’s nose and his voice in Harry’s ear, it was all Harry could manage. Something like a whimper, which was humiliating, fell out of him when Blaise’s tongue slicked up his ear.

“I want you,” Blaise purred, “like an alcoholic at the bar,” he laughed. “Let me drink you up…”

They were moving again then, moving to the music, but this time Blaise’s voice was in Harry’s ear, whispering his name, “Harry, Harry,” and his nimble fingers danced a torturous game over Harry’s body. His hands found their way under Harry’s shirt to tweak his nipples. He traced the scar on Harry’s arm from Wormtail’s knife, and somehow even that was good. His hips shoved against Harry once, hard, and then a hot, smooth hand eased down Harry’s back to his arse, and Blaise pulled Harry tight to him.

“Room?” the melting voice suggested. Harry nodded.

They were swimming through the crowd then, and Harry hung onto Blaise’s hand for dear life. When they reached the outside, Harry stumbled on the last step, and blinked against the street lamps’ lights.

“Room? What…?”

Blaise turned back to smirk at Harry. “My place, my room. You think I wouldn’t treat the great Harry Potter with class?”

For a moment that teasing tone threw Harry off, reminded Harry too much of old days at Hogwarts, but then he laughed. “But, what about Pansy?”

Blaise sighed. “She can handle it. She’ll pass out, and I’ll send someone else to bring her home.”

He wrapped Harry in a tight embrace in a pitch black alleyway, and they left with a crack of Apparition.

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More soon! This fic is just fun. =3
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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire