Song: Sex on Fire – Kings of Leon
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Angst
Relationship: Hermione/Blaise
Summary: He would have her as he so wanted, even if it meant one night alone.

Escaping Reality

1/1

The crowd milled about, so close and yet so far. He could see them and yet knew they couldn't see him. Through the slit of the door a strip of light crept into the room, slivering up their forms, illuminating from the tip of her heeled toe to the top of his dark head. They, the Others, laughed, heads thrown back in a mockery of amusement. A play, it was all a charade; the actors, wizards and witches of everyday life, pretending all was good. But he knew better, as did she. Sure, Voldemort was gone but was the world so much better? They lived, they went on to have families and continue their lives as they had before, not near enough changing or learning from past mistakes.

He had though. He could taste the change in him, the coming of knowledge that brimmed deep inside him, alit in his mind. In his hands as they trailed from her taut shoulders, skimming her shaking arms, long fingers deftly tangling with her own for the briefest of moments before he gripped her hips and dragged her back against him, tighter than seemed humanly possible.

He buried his nose against her hair, inhaled as if expecting a great gust of life altering air to expand his lungs beyond capacity. Instead, he was invaded. Her scent; so sweet and strong, naturally feminine, passion underlying her ever conservative look. She quivered. Anticipation? Fear? Was a brave Gryffindor like her afraid of a former-Slytherin like himself? Were such biases still alive and kicking in someone he'd beholden for so long? He thought her past those judgments. As if hearing him and wanting to prove herself, she turned quickly in his arms, lifting her own to wrap around his neck.

Inquisitive brown eyes bore deeply into his own evergreen; wonder, never-ending curiosity, and a fire burning deep that made no suggestion of quelling. The Others wouldn't know, he understood. He wasn't asking for a lifetime, though his ragged heart begged him not to ask but to take, to keep. The Others, playing their parts out there, unknowing of what he held so close in his arms. The Red Head would wonder where she was off to, maybe search a little before returning to his true love; food. The Scarred One might search as well, only to be distracted by The Red Head's Sister. And if more came, he couldn't care less. This was his time; quite possible the one and only.

He slid a hand up her spine, forefinger gliding along the zipper of her dress. No robes for Miss Granger, no. She kept her muggle side out and present, never wavering in her overwhelming pride for being what so many would derisively call a mudblood. He had too, once… Hadn't he? Or was he transferring again? Was he taking memories of so many as his own? His mother had used the insult more than once, as had her many suitors of the past. And as a Slytherin he couldn't say he hadn't heard it said often, especially in direct connection with the all-too-smart woman who stood snug against him this moment. But had he? He'd never truly taken a side, kept quiet involving his ties because he chose not to have any. It was muddled, confused, but he did know that his thinking now was only that she was beautiful and warm and his.

Her hand rose, the back of her knuckles stroking the length of his neck. He swallowed, tight, rigid, wanting so much and yet unwilling to rush. She cupped his cheek, thumb tracing his high cheekbones, sliding up to press against his temple as if to draw understanding from his mind. He cradled the back of her neck softly, the tips of his fingers burying in her riotous hair. She leaned back instinctively, her body bowing to his.

"Do you think they're watching?" she murmured, her voice rather hoarse from this intrusion of reality, this separation from the pretending.

"I don't care… I'm consumed…" Her stared at her thoughtfully, searching. "With you."

Her breath stuttered, her brow drawing tight, as if… she had to wonder… "Why?"

His lips quirked, white teeth bared with pained honesty, and without a word, he leaned forward to kiss her. Noses brushing, brow to brow, he slanted his lips across hers. She didn't move; away or closer. She simply stood; eyes wide and stunned. And slowly, as his tongue stroked her mouth with measured patience, her soft lips parted for him. His hands fed into her hair, tightened, pale knuckled as he took now without any sense of waiting. As though death were on the horizon and this was his last hope he kissed her fervently, teeth and tongue and lips meshing, dominating, taking and receiving. Just as he knew she would, she gave as good as she got. Clinging to his hair, fingers gripping, tugging, straining to draw him nearer, she yanked at his hair, at his neck, anywhere she could find purchase.

Breaking away, lips forced apart, they each panted heavily, staring heavy-lidded at one another. He chose not to wait, not to hesitate, as he swore she was too brilliant not to think of any consequences. And so he bent forward, buried his face in the crook of her neck and suckled her pulse as though a vampire out for blood, seeking reverence and sustenance in the pale skin of her throat. Teeth scored along her riveting skin, tongue lapping at her until she whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair, against his back. He moved on, wanting to hear her cry out for him everywhere, wanting to be at her every erogenous spot at once. He spilt kisses along her shoulder, pushing the cover of her dress away, letting it dangle down her arm as he explored heaven. Shaking fingers drew the zipper of her gown down and the confines of fabric once hugging her tight loosened.

Her pert breasts were flushed, sitting cupped in the laceiest bra he'd seen in his life. He grinned to himself, knowing what he thought of her was true; proper but not prim and passionate beyond reason. The others might not see, might not know, but he had and he enjoyed it rapturously. He kissed each breast lingeringly, content as gooseflesh fanned across rosied skin, making them even more beautiful. Her gown fell forgotten at her feet, leaving her in her knickers that he wholly wanted off her. He cupped her hips, intent on kissing every naked inch of her, only to be pushed away. He stared at her, breath held, waiting for her cunning and spot-on mind to call a halt to all things unrelated to sanity.

Instead, she chewed her lip, stared up at him with big brown eyes and finally… she reached forward, undid his tie with one fluid hand, tugging it off slow and sensual before laying it on a nearby end table with care. She unbuttoned one, two, three slots from his collar down, fingers sliding through his parted shirt to stroke his chest hesitantly. He swallowed, tightened his jaw so it wouldn't quake with miserable adoration.

His hand shook visibly as he raised it to her face, cupped her cheek. A shuddering breath left him as she leaned into his hand, eyes falling to half-mass.

"If it's not forever…" he murmured throatily. "If it's just tonight…" His arm swept around her waist, tightened, and drew her up until she was plastered against him. "It's still the greatest." Perhaps she'd think him vain and quite possibly, he was. He couldn't say with all certainty he'd be her greatest, but this moment, this night, she would be forever his greatest love.

Grabbing his neck rather roughly, she tugged him down until their mouths met, fit, connected with a spark of intense knowing. She backed them up, hefted her leg up around his waist as her back met the wall with a thud. She laughed under her breath; soft, sweet, as if they shared this tender moment between only them, something to be remembered and thought about in later years.

That same shaft of light fell upon where they once were, no longer highlighting them, as the Others could be forgotten now, a distant memory. For tonight was them; him and her alone. And he would make her remember it, he would leave his print all over her, hands and fingers, tongue and teeth, lips following, every single inch of her beautiful body, until she couldn't imagine another, couldn't fathom anyone touching her the same.

Clothing fell, tossed and strewn about, shoes kicked off until bare toes wiggled against each other and naked legs were tangled. He took her against the wall, again on the floor, and panting, near exhausted, he hauled her up on top of a desk where he cradled her close and worked the silencing spells to near breaking. She was like liquid fire on the inside, burning and soothing him in the same moment. A tight cocoon that begged him never to leave, that gripped and quivered around him as if he were a long lost companion come home. Her naked breasts were his for the taking; hands and mouth molding around her blushing peaks as he drove her to passion's edge.

And when sweat left their skin cold as they lay entwined on an old rug that smelled of money and age, he watched her doze contently in his arms. The others heard nothing, thought only of the party, enjoying the fake festivities long past the witching hour. All while he lay basking in the glow of a woman he'd been feverish for, his bones rattling his body with desire for her since… He couldn't remember how long it'd been. Perhaps even in Hogwarts there had been the attraction, the want for the bookish beauty.

However long it'd been, it felt as though with sunrise all would be lost once more. Dawn would bring about old rivalries and friends or foes would be quick to remind them of their duties. She'd return to The Red Head and The Scarred One, hoping they wouldn't ask where she'd been all night. Perhaps in years to come she would remember him with fondness as he knew he always would her. He hoped.

The night grew late, the moon fading as the sun sought to rise. He stayed awake, wouldn't dare sleep away a moment so consuming. Arms wrapped around her, their fingers twined against her stomach, he breathed her in, watched as she dreamt so easily, as she lay so comfortably, without worry as he held her as his own.

"Blaise," she murmured sleepily.

"Hm?"

"I have so many questions…"

He smiled to himself. "You always do."

She turned slightly in his arms, staring up at him. "Would you answer them?"

He watched her chew her lip contemplatively and sighed. "If you want an honest answer."

Her eyes held onto his boldly as if seeking and finding what she needed there instead. "I… I'm not sure I do."

He nodded slightly before laying his chin against her shoulder and snuggling her closer. "One day, Pet… You'll be ready to know."

"I find that term disparaging," she told him, her lips turning in a frown.

He smirked. "I knew you would."

"Then why would you—" She trailed off, eyes narrowing. "Sneaky Slytherin…"

"You flush when you're angry," he said simply, eyes taking in her form with a deliciously full appetite. "Can I help it if you practically vibrate when you're passionate?"

Her expression hastily softened. "Most would find it… unattractive. I… I nag… Often." She shrugged, turning her face away as if ashamed to some extent.

"You could nag me for a lifetime, Pet, and I'd still…" He wanted to tell her, truly he did. But she was so analytical and surely she'd remind him that this was really their first encounter. No one could fall in love from afar… Could they?

As if understanding, she smiled at him. "You are a true enigma, Blaise Zabini."

His brow lifted, challenging. "Dare to discover me, Granger?"

Her hand rose, fingers stroking his face lightly. "I fear I already have."

He kissed the palm of her hand and sighed as she leaned into him, turning her gaze back to the window as the sun slowly rose, bringing with it the light of reality. "Search harder, Lion… I have many facets to be uncovered."

"Perhaps I will," she whispered. "After all, what quest for knowledge is ever truly finished?"

He grinned, closing his eyes as he let himself be consumed by the fire of the sun, the light of his love, and the ambiguous end to one night and beginning of a new day.