Sex, Drugs, Etc

You heard him before you saw him. A knock on your window this late could either mean you were about to get brutally murdered by a serial killer, or Barty had a really shite day. You hoped it was the latter. You pushed back the curtains of your luxurious bay window and unlocked the glass, making eye contact with him. It had been raining outside and he was soaked to the bone, shivering with bloodstained knuckles.

“Barty, you didn’t-”

“It was a mirror, Zabini. I didn’t punch my father. I’m not that much of an idiot. Have a bit of faith,” he teased. He was teasing. Teasing while blood mixes with the rainwater on a cut down his cheek, teasing while his knuckles most likely had glass shards embedded in them. He was an idiot. What a drag it was to be his best friend.

“Sit.” You couldn’t even look at him as you grabbed your wand to fix him up. “Giving orders now? You know, it’s a good look on you, it is.” Now he was flirting. You wanted to slap him. You almost did. But then you saw him sitting on your bed, forcing a smile, pathetically, you might add, and you decided against aggressively assaulting him for his stupidity. For now.

However, that doesn’t mean you’re going to be gentle with him. You pulled on his hair slightly to make him look up as you cleaned off the blood from his face, expecting a sharp retort, anything from him, anything other than the pathetic mess of a man in front of you right now. You saw none. He only looked up at you, no more teasing in his eyes, no more flirtatiousness. Just pain.

“Hands.” He held them out to you, obeying without protest. You picked away the glass shards with a quick spell, ensuring it wasn’t too painful, before casting a healing charm. It was like this at least once a week. He got into it with his dear old dad, he was hurt, he ran to you, and then he ran back. It was a cycle. It was his cycle.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you ordered.

“No more coming over when I get hurt? Gotta say, that hurts my feelings, though I do suppose Rosier might love my company this time of night. ” This fucking idiot.

“No, I mean no more getting hurt in the first place. Your father is terrible, Barty, and you don’t deserve any of this, but you need to stop continuing to provoke him purposely. Makes me think you like getting hurt,” you scolded.

“Can’t a guy be a masochist?” He grinned, blood dribbling down his chin from a cut on his lower lip, which you hadn’t noticed before. You took his face in your hands, ignoring his previous comment and running your thumb lightly over the cut.

“Episkey.” No more cut. You were so good to him. He’d be dead without you. That’s what scared you the most.

“Don’t cry over me,” he held your wrist gently, and that’s when you realized you had been shaking. You wiped away a tear before it fell, but you knew he saw it. And he knew you’d hate him if he brought it up. Barty was an asshole, but he was observant, and he cared. Enough to change the bloody subject, at least.

“Don’t s’pose I could stay over tonight?” Barty asked hesitantly. At this, you paused. He never spent the night. Sometimes he waited until you fell asleep before he left, but he was never there all night. Something truly awful must have happened back at the Crouch Manor for him to be acting like this.

“I… guess, if you want,” you murmured, barely getting the words out before he vigorously nodded. “I want.”

“Right,” you said.

“Right,” he echoed.

“You know you can tell me what happened. I don’t- it’s not like I’ll judge you for your dad being a prick. I want you to know you can talk to me. No matter what bullshit happens. I’m here. Against my better judgement,” you sat next to him on the bed, your thighs brushing, shoulders together. He didn’t say anything. Only turned to meet your gaze. Light eyes meeting yours, the dark circles under his eyes adding almost an almost sultry effect.

Then his lips met yours. It was gentle, almost soothing, at first, almost like he had never kissed before. But you knew better, and so did he. His long fingers gripped your throat to pull you closer, not hard enough to choke you, but certainly enough to do its job. His lips pulled away from yours, deciding instead to attack your neck as your hands tangled in his messy wet hair, damp from the rain.

“How far can I go?” He whispered against your neck. He wasn’t exactly being gentle, but he was still holding himself back.

“Far as y’ want to.” You were practically breathless right now, coming undone from kisses alone. You weren’t sure you’d survive anymore without losing it. He groaned into your neck before pulling off your shirt, leaving you in only your bra. He pulled his own off hastily. He kissed down your stomach before reaching your David Bowie themed pajamas pants.

“Really?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He dragged them down painfully slow before tracing along the edge of your panties, carefully pulling them down, your slick sticking to the fabric, already wet for him. His eyes slightly widened at the sight of how damp you were, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he knelt on the floor in front of you while you stayed on the bed. He looked at you for confirmation, a whine leaving his throat at your nod.

He leaned closer, pushing your thighs apart, slowly licking upwards, the touch soft and tentative at first. He let out a soft moan, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he repeated the motion, tongue moving in slow circles around the center of your arousal, his breathing coming in ragged pants. You could just barely contain your moans, and as much as you knew he wanted to hear you, your parents could still be home, despite their absences being often. He pulled his tongue away, replacing it with a steady finger, curling in and out to get you used to him, his long fingers hitting places your own never could. You clenched around him, his finger collecting your dripping wetness. His thumb rubs your clit and your face contorts in both pain and pleasure.

You would’ve been embarrassed at the incredibly lewd noises your pussy was making, but you were too lost and out of breath to even register anything other than him. Squelches filled the room as he plunged another finger in and out of your sopping cunt. He flicked his thumb against your clit, and you moved your hips in response, desperate for more friction.

“Right there...”

After a few minutes, he stood, undoing his jeans rapidly, desperate in ways you couldn’t begin to fathom. His body was almost shaking, a mixture of excitement and need filling him as he pulled them off. He was left now in only his boxers, tented with arousal, a large damp spot where his cock was leaking precum. You took the liberty of pulling those off, letting his cock spring free. He pushed you back against the bed, hovering over you, his tip rubbing against your entrance.

It’s not like you had a ruler on you, but you could tell from just the tip how absolutely fucking hung Barty was. He shoved his head into your neck, now biting back his own moans. He carefully grinded against you, only entering halfway, not wanting to hurt you, but god, you were tight. He didn’t know how much longer he could last without just cumming from the feeling of only a little of you. He was holding back and you knew it, but you were way too fucked out to say anything, so you settled for tugging on his hair expectantly, which caused a sharp involuntary thrust from him, causing you to whimper in his ear.

He pulled back to lean his forehead against your, now setting a steady pace, desperately trying to contain himself. You had never seen him like this. He was so needy. His eyes darkened as he picked up the pace a bit, still steadying his thrusts. “Is this okay? ‘S this how you want me to... fuck… touch you?” He said with a groan.

You barely got the words out, a jumbled mess of yeses and pleas for him not to stop. He let out a shuddering breath at your words, his eyes closing as he let himself get lost in the feeling of your walls against him, squeezing just the right amount as he sped up. His hand that wasn’t holding your waist steady began to touch you everywhere, mapping out every contour, every curve, every inch of you, committing it all to memory, worshipping your body as he moved inside you. Barty pulled your legs up to his shoulders, entering you more intensely, and you knew your pussy was going to be impossibly swollen later.

He unclasped your bra deftly with two fingers, kneading one of your breasts, tonguing one of your nipples before meeting your lips in a heated kiss. His fingers travel down the valley of your breast before finding your soft nub and rubbing it in circles. He pulls out, causing you to whine before moving into a sitting position and practically slamming you down on him. The pale moonlight streaming in from the window allowed you to finally see him in all his glory. The veins, the inches that kept pulling out then pushing back in as he rutted against you hopelessly.

“Mm, doing so good f’ me. Gripping me just right,” he whispered praises into your ear, making sure you knew how much of a good girl you were, how well you were doing, how perfect you were. Your hands clawed weakly at his back, and he knew you were so close. An overwhelming sensation took over you as you felt your stomach coil, filling your every nerve with bliss. The world seemed to momentarily stop, focused solely on the intoxicating waves of ecstasy that crash over you like a tidal wave.

He finally pulls out of you completely, and you realize he came too, milky hot beads of cum dripping out of your aching pussy. He pulls you closer by your hips, softly kissing your jaw. “I’m so proud of you… you did so good for me.” You shivered, and if it was anyone else, you would've insisted it was cold, but he knew that his words struck a chord within you. One that only he could play. Because at the end of day, the solace he found in you was nothing compared to what you found in him.