Mechanical
Blaise was good in bed and he knew it. His mother trained him very well.
He chased the Weasley girl's pleasure, breaking down all the sounds she’s made and storing them mechanically in his neat little row of boxes: the good, the bad, the odd. His body was tingly and he could no longer feel very much, but that was alright. He could still feel the pressure of her hands, could still feel the way pushed against him, feel the little pats when he went too fast and she wanted slower. She was the master puppeteer to his sex marionette, and he sucked, kissed, and fucked exactly like she wanted. Vaguely, he thought something hurt, but she just yelled to go faster. So he did.
…
“You’re too quiet in bed,” she said once. He shrugged with careless grace, instead twirling her around before seating her at the breakfast table. She grunted with frustration, eyes piercing through him in a way he didn’t like. He paid it no mind however. Already, his mind raced, drawing plan after plan for how he could fix her dissatisfaction.
The next time they fucked, he tested out moans, whines, and whimpers - tested volumes, speeds, frequencies against what made her twitch the hardest. He chased her pleasure, keeping all of his senses honed to her whimpers. It was easier this way - easier to ignore the crawling of his skin, the churning of his stomach. He matched his sounds to her response until he was reasonably certain she was satisfied. Biting back his sigh of relief, he at last considered it reasonable to let himself float out of his body.
…
Blaise woke up to Ginny’s shuttered eyes scrutinizing every single inch of him. Briefly, he wondered if she wanted to fuck. Then he shifted, and his dick flopped against his thigh with a sticky sound. It burned. When the haze finally fell away, his back and legs screamed with agony.
The scrutiny turned into a spotlight. They fucked and he couldn’t remember it.
Ginny’s eyes softened, and without a word, began massaging his aching muscles.