Blaise’s POV
Blaise Zabini was having the time of his life.
In this stupid hidden closet. He’d usually never stoop so low as to sneaking around in someplace so… he hates to be that guy, but someplace common. He took his hook-ups, however rare they may be, somewhere less confined. Sometimes if his motivation is political he’ll show off his magic with strong silencing charms, and privacy wards.
Nothing like this. This was fun, exhilarating, and Blaise felt enthusiastic about this. The sly hands untucking his jumper from his pristeenly kept trousers. Teasing whispers in his ears accompanied by nibbles.
He was beginning to understand his mother’s voracious appetite on a deeper level. When Fred and George approached him with an ‘investment opportunity’ as they put it, he wasn’t sure what to think. He was still getting over his crush on the horrifically existing Ron Weasley.
~
Blaise had always prided himself on being calculated and discerning, especially when it came to business—or pleasure. But the twins? They were chaos wrapped in charm; unpredictable yet oddly compelling.
When they approached him the weeks leading up to the party, he was still moping over Ron, why on earth he was ever attracted to such an emotionally stunted baboon, he had no idea.
They sat opposite sides of him on a bench out in the courtyard while he was reading. Fred swung an arm around his shoulder.
“What do you want?” Blaise frowned at them. Nothing good comes from Gryffindor nonsense.
“Well little snake,”
“We have a juicy proposition for you.”
Blaise huffed. “No thanks.”
The twins shared a grin over his shoulder. “Ah but we think you will be.”
“See we’ve noticed you watching the Gryffindor table more often than not.”
“And then when our ickle Ronikins gets a girlfriend you avoid it.”
“So?” Blaise was thankful a blush wouldn’t be noticed on his skin. So what if his little crush got smashed under the weight of Ron’s real relationship.
“So we think you’re stuck being jealous over the wrong Weasley brother.”
He rolled his eyes, closed his book and finally looked at the smirking twins. “And?”
“Come to our next party. We’ll offer something way better than he can.”
“Hell, you can even bring a couple friends.” They both leaned in close to his ears.
Blaise hid his mild shock. Those parties were legendary. “And hypothetically if I was interested?
“Then we’ll send you the details two days in advance, pretty snake.”
~
One thing’s for sure; Fred and George were nothing like their little brother.
That much became clear when Blaise found himself being tugged—rather firmly—into a dimly lit broom closet. Fred shut the door with a dramatic flourish. George leaned against the wall, all smirking confidence, as if he owned the place. The twins worked in perfect synchronization, their grins wide and wicked, as though they had just stumbled upon the greatest prank of the century.
So now he was stuck between the two ginger imps. George had his face cupped by both hands, kissing him sweetly, too sweet for random hookups. Fred had his hands up Blaise’s shirt, teasingly stroking the dark skin of his hips, while lavishing his neck with bites. It seemed that every time he started to melt into George’s soft mouth, Fred would bite hard and make Blaise jolt. It was exhilarating and made it so hard to keep any semblance of Zabini composure.
“Somebody’s being too quiet, ay Fred.”
“We should make him louder.”
And simultaneously, they bit down on his neck while each grabbing a handful of his arse. Who could blame Blaise if he made a noise after that? Certainly not the sniggering twins now smothering his neck in lavish kisses. Certainly not himself.
Blaise flexed his hands uselessly under their assault, finding purchase on a shelf in the closet to balance his strangely unsteady legs. For a moment he had to admit he was a bit overwhelmed. Hot lips against pulse points. It felt amazing. Bloody hell, Zabini, you’re supposed to be literate. Come up with better words.
“Blaise.” George. A pause in their movements had him recognizing just how out of breath he was. The hands on his hips began sliding upward. “Can we undress you here?”
He nods helplessly.
Only to be met with a playful tisk. “Words, Zabini.” Fred. A nip.
“Yes. You may.” Is it getting harder to breathe in here? This space is too closed.
“Thank you, Blaise.” George’s soft, sweet tone.
“YoU mAy.” Fred’s mock.
His jumper is slipped off, along with the thin silk turtleneck he preferred as an undershirt. He shuddered briefly in the cold air. Warm wide hands crawl around his waist. He shouldn’t be this breathless. Not with them. And yet, every teasing nip from Fred sent a shockwave up his spine, while George’s maddening sweetness made him want to lean in and never pull away.
Blaise swallowed hard, his pulse thudding in his throat. The space was too small, the air too thick, their bodies pressed too close. George’s fingers ghosted over his ribs, teasing and light, while Fred’s lips skimmed the curve of his jaw, teeth grazing just enough to make Blaise’s breath stutter.
“You’re shaking,” George murmured against his shoulder, voice all honeyed amusement. “Cold, love?”
“Doubt it,” Fred chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy circles at Blaise’s hip. “We’re keeping him warm, aren’t we, Georgie?”
Blaise could form words, he could! But the smirk tugging at Fred’s lips told him that he didn't want to. He exhaled sharply as George’s nose skimmed the side of his neck, a featherlight touch that sent shivers racing across his skin.
“Merlin,” Blaise muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself. It didn’t help. Not when George’s lips brushed the corner of his mouth, soft and unbearably patient, a stark contrast to the sharper bites Fred was littering down his chest.
Fred was moving down onto his knees. His hands moved to his waistline and spun him around. Their heat pressing in on him from both sides was beautifully agonizing. Every movement, every shift of fabric, felt amplified in the dark, the only sound the quiet hitch of Blaise’s breath and the occasional amused hum from one of the twins.
Fred’s fingers slid up his side, tracing the bare skin there, slow and deliberate. “You’re awfully quiet,” he mused. “Not losing your nerve, are you?”
Blaise’s pride bristled, but before he could respond, George, ever the softer touch, pressed his lips just behind Blaise’s ear and murmured, “Let him be, Fred. He’s enjoying himself.”
A shiver ran through him, betraying whatever composure he had left. Fred chuckled, dragging his teeth lightly over Blaise’s shoulder in something that was neither entirely gentle nor entirely rough. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said.
The worst part—the best part—was that neither of them ever pushed too far. They knew just how much space to give, how to pull and retreat, how to let Blaise lean in and take whatever he wanted, if he dared.
And Merlin help him, he wanted.
And he was gonna fucking dare
George’s fingers brushed over the dip of his spine, his voice all quiet mischief. “What do you think, Blaise? Want us to stop?”
Blaise let out a shaky breath. “Hell no.”
Fred grinned against his skin. “That’s our boy.”
Fred’s hands pulled at his trousers, hesitating only a fragile moment. A second to see if he would protest. When he didn’t- of course he didn’t- his trousers were off and Fred’s mouth was working over his clothed cock. Just when he sank into the warm feeling sprouting in his gut, and thinking Fred was finally being sweet, he nipped at it.
He gasped, body jerking instinctively, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape them. Fred’s mouth lingered, his tongue flicking over the mark as if in apology, though the smirk against Blaise’s skin told a different story.
“Sensitive there, are we?” Fred murmured, far too pleased with himself.
“And hypothetically if I was?”
“Hypothetically, I’d keep licking them.”
Blaise opened his mouth to snap back, to regain some semblance of control, but then George's fingers skimmed over the previously left marks on his chest, pressing lightly. A cruel, knowing test.
George, always the softer of the two, chuckled against his shoulder. “You should see yourself right now,” he mused. “So pretty like this.”
Blaise, head spinning, could only curse under his breath—because fuck they were playing with him and it was delicious. George stroked his arm.
“Can we take off your clothes the rest of the way?”
“Hurry the fuck up.” He was so hard in his boxer shorts.
“Don’t get snippy, Love.”
He shut up. Not because he was told to. No. Because the pet name threw him for a mental loop. This was a hookup. You don’t call hookups “love”.
They flipped him around once more and suddenly he had Fred at his back and George getting to his knees at his front. They held him steady as they completely undressed him. Fred’s warm mouth was surprisingly sweet against the small of his back. He felt the swooping flush of a cleaning spell.
The twins grin in sync and Blaise’s eye flutter as warm mouths are all he can focus on. George sucks down his cock, taking it deep right away. He nuzzles in, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Blaise’s naval. Fred wastes no time diving in and tongue-fucking his arse fast and quick, clichély like a starving man.
Not that Blaise was complaining.
In fact he was eating up the attention, soothing his own special kind of hunger. It was getting harder to keep his knees from buckling.
Thankfully two sets of strong arms were keeping him upright. Wide palms help him buck back and forth. Fred and George’s grunts as they consumed him drowned out his definitely ungentlemanly sounds of pleasure.
It wasn’t long before he was on the edge and squirming between them. Fred pulled back, his invading warmth immediately missed.
“Close already Zabini? I thought you said you had stamina.”
He huffed. “I do. Normally.”
“Aw.” Fred’s mock sympathy was strangely fond. “So I guess you won’t make it if I fuck this pretty arse?”
“Bloody hell. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
The twins sport matching mischievous grins. Lube is summoned and George stands up. He lubes his hand up and pulls Blaise to lean forward against his chest. The twins disapperate their clothes in a showy snap of magic. Fingers tease his entrance, before pushing deep inside. When the red-head was satisfied Blaise was prepared thoroughly, he pushed in. The thick length filling him sparked twinges in the small of his back.
The weight of them was overwhelming in the best possible way. Fred at his back, broad and steady, one arm curled loosely around Blaise’s waist as if daring him to move. George in front, all warmth and mischief, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns over Blaise’s ribs.
"Comfortable?" Fred murmured, lips just behind Blaise’s ear.
Blaise swallowed, his throat dry. "That’s one word for it."
George grinned, tilting his head as if considering. "I think he likes it, Freddie."
Fred chuckled lowly, the vibration of it sinking into Blaise’s spine. "Oh, I know he does."
Blaise huffed, trying for indignant, but then George pressed in closer, the smallest shift, and suddenly there was no space left between them. Heat. Breath. The sheer awareness of touch—everywhere.
"You—" Blaise started, but he never finished. Fred’s hand smoothed over his stomach, warm and slow, while George ground their erections together.
So this is their plan. No complaints. As Fred began a steady rhythm, it rocked him forward into George. It was hard to even stay standing having both sides of his pleasure being simultaneously stimulated. George kept him at an angle where he could hide his face in the ginger’s pecs and he really appreciated it. And especially appreciated the musky smell wafting off the boy’s skin.
Blaise had never considered himself the type to lose composure, but Merlin, the twins were making it impossible to think straight.
Fred was all heat at his back, firm and steady, a grounding presence even as he thrust in deep. George, meanwhile, was softer in his approach—maddeningly so—his fingers brushing over Blaise’s naval, holding his cock in place against his own, his breath warm against his forehead, touching his hair with each huff.
“You’re a sight like this,” George murmured, tilting Blaise’s head to get a better look at his expression.
Fred chuckled, his voice a low rumble against Blaise’s spine. “You should see him from back here.”
Blaise shivered, his pride warring with the way they surrounded him so effortlessly, like they’d done this a hundred times before.
“You two are insufferable,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.
Fred hummed. “And yet…” His grip tightened just slightly, enough to make Blaise’s breath catch. “Here you are.”
George grinned, keeping Blaise’s chin tilted up just enough to meet his gaze. “Something tells me you like us insufferable.”
The world went fuzzy as he felt Fred speed up and worked his arse. Each deep thrust had heat pooling in his gut. It felt so good like this. Between them, and not really having to think about anything else other than the fact he was being taken care of.
Fred’s thrusts got harder and faster. And George held their length’s closer, but looser, freeing their movement’s to his twin’s motions.
The world turned bliss ass Fred erupted inside him. The feeling of the warm spunk being released inside him sending Blaise following the twin over the edge. His vision blurred and he was mildly aware of George using his release to jerk them off faster. Warm splattered over his stomach and chest.
…
The world felt distant, hazy around the edges as Blaise slumped back against something—someone. Warm hands steadied him, guiding him to sit properly on someone’s lap while the other twin—he wasn’t even sure which at this point—murmured something he couldn’t quite process.
A damp cloth pressed against his skin, gentle and deliberate. Blaise flinched at first, more out of instinct than anything else, but the touch remained steady, unhurried.
“Easy, love,” George said, his voice softer than usual, almost careful. The one holding him then? “We’ve got you.”
Blaise let out a slow breath, tilting his head back as he let them work. Fred knelt beside him, wiping away the remnants of sweat and warmth with patient strokes, his usual mischief dimmed but not entirely gone.
“You’re a mess,” Fred teased lightly, though his touch remained careful, reverent even.
Blaise huffed, his eyelids heavy. “Whose fault is that?”
George chuckled, fingers carding briefly through Blaise’s curls before reaching for a fresh cloth. “Wouldn’t dream of pointing fingers.”
Liar.
Still, Blaise let himself be tended to. He let them move him as they pleased, dabbing at his skin, brushing beads of sweat from his forehead, murmuring quiet reassurances. It was embarrassing, really, how easily he melted into it. How much he liked being taken care of.
Fred clicked his tongue, tilting Blaise’s chin up with a knuckle to inspect his face. “There he is,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.
George pressed a cool glass of water into his hands, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Knew you’d survive.”
Blaise rolled his eyes but took the glass anyway, his fingers brushing George’s in the exchange. “Barely.”
Fred grinned. “We’ll call it a win.”
And just like that, Blaise knew—hypothetically, of course—that he was doomed.
George hoisted his still limp body, standing up. Blaise couldn’t hear the sounds of the party anymore. As they emerged from the closet, the glow of the fireplace showed a semi-empty common room, mostly unconscious bodies.
Oh, hypothetically, Blaise could try to muster up his usual cool indifference, pull himself together, and make the long trek back to the Slytherin common room—only to regret every single step. The dungeons were far, his legs were weak, and Merlin forbid he run into anyone who might ask questions.
But let’s be honest.
Fred and George were warm. The bed—whichever one they’d dragged him into, Daren curtains and all—was far more inviting than a chilly stone corridor. And the way George absentmindedly smoothed a hand over his back while Fred lazily soothed his stomach? Infuriatingly comfortable.
Blaise could leave. He should leave.
But then Fred muttered, “You’re thinking too hard, mate,” and George hummed in agreement, tugging the blanket higher over all three of them.
Blaise sighed, rolling his eyes even as he sank deeper into the mattress.
“Shut up.”
Fred grinned against his temple. “Sweet dreams, love.”
And Blaise broke the most important rule of hookups, and stayed.