DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to Harry Potter nor am I making any money from doing depraved things with JK Rowling's characters.

WARNINGS: This story contains hardcore slash, in other words, explicit gay sex.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is based on the Hogwarts '97-'98 roleplay on Twitter. It's somewhat A/U, most notably for the fact that Pansy is on the quidditch team, and of course, for the fact that Draco, Blaise, and Theodore aren't straight. This was written from the point of view of theBUZ_, and involves PetitMortMalfoy and TheoNottJr. It references another story, "What Draco Malfoy Wants".

"The Keeper Gets Served"

Blaise sits upright on his broom with his legs dangling down, hovering in front of a goal hoop, his hands resting casually on his hips. Pansy, Quin, and Graham have had the quaffle brilliantly in play on the Ravenclaw side of the pitch for the past twenty minutes. Blaise is confident that the ball won't be coming near the hoops on the Slytherin side of the pitch any time soon.

Draco swoops down from above, falling from the sky like a shimmering green bird, and effortlessly pulls his broom to a stop mid-air beside Blaise. He's all wound up and hoarse from screaming at his teammates. "Oi! Think you could try playing keeper while you're sitting pretty on your broom, Zabini?"

Blaise crosses his arms over his chest and fixes Draco with a pointed look. "Have I let any quaffles through yet, Malfoy?"

"No, but you're about to. Head's up, twat." Draco gestures at the incoming ball with the tilt of his head.

The quaffle is soaring towards the hoop on Blaise's left. He swiftly takes the handle of his broom and speeds towards the goal, but he's too late. The quaffle skims the tips of his gloves and into the hoop as he attempts to knock it away.

Now Draco is even more furious. His cheeks are flushed pink with frustration and his hair is sticking to his sweat-drenched brow. He calls down to Madame Hooch for a time out before shaking his finger in Blaise's face. If Draco were not team captain, Blaise would smack him for his rudeness. "I'm taking you out of the game, Blaise. You're not wanking off on MY watch." He barks down at the reserve players on the ground. "Trace Miller! Get your poncy arse in the game!"

Blaise glares at Draco, unmoving. "You know you're not going to win any games by being an arsehole to your team."

"Yeah? Well we're not going to win any games if you're pulling your cock when you should be keeping the goals. You're out, Zabini. Get the fuck off the pitch."

Slytherin have just lost to Ravenclaw, 412 to 431. In the changing room, the team is unusually silent and gives Draco a wide berth. Everyone knows that Malfoy is livid beyond reasoning. He's pulling off his quidditch robes bitterly and hurling them into the wooden cubbies, not caring that the mud from his boots is splattering everywhere. They're all waiting, Blaise included, for Draco to explode into a furious verbal tirade of swear words and politically incorrect insults. They're quickly showering and dressing, anxious to get out quickly before Draco's building fury finally does detonate.

Blaise knows he's hardly in a position to talk to Draco after his fumble on the quidditch pitch, but as his best friend, he knows how to diffuse him more than anyone else on the team. Draco is the only one left in the showers, standing with his hands on the tiled wall and his head bowed. The hot water has been beating down on his back for far too long and has rendered his pale flesh an irritated shade of dark pink. Blaise, neatly wrapped in his own towel, holds another one out for Draco.

"You're done Draco. You're going to get third degree burns if you stay there," says Blaise, trying his best not to seem denigrating.

"Good. Maybe if I stay here long enough I'll evaporate," mumbles Draco.

Blaise leans his shoulder against the tiles, inclines his head down to try to gain Draco's attention, and speaks softly, but firmly, without being patronizing. "It was a close match. No need to feel humiliated. We're going to beat Hufflepuff and win the cup."

Still with his hands on the wall, Draco turns his head slowly to face Blaise. He looks positively feral with rage. His eyes burn silver between the wet strands of his fringe. He speaks in a dangerously calm voice "If you hadn't let the fucking quaffle in, it would have been closer."

"I cocked it up. I apologize," Blaise answers simply. He has no use for excuses and neither does Draco.

Draco rights himself, turns off the taps, and yanks the towel from Blaise, all the while staring daggers at him. "Send everybody away. Unless you fancy having your arse kicked in front of the entire team."

Blaise knows better than to argue when Draco is this angry. He's not afraid of his wrath, per se, he just doesn't want to hear it. He knows that, in the absence of Crabbe and Goyle, Draco's threats are mostly empty. Blaise will just have to work harder to diffuse the Draco bomb lest he want to endure a long-winded diatribe on how much Blaise sucks.

Now that they are alone in the changing room, the echoing quiet is even more unnerving. Draco has Blaise pinned against the wall of the shower room with his hands on his chest. Their bodies are so close that Blaise can feel Draco's chest heaving with the effort of holding back a tide of anger. He's only letting it out a trickle at a time, which is unlike Draco, who usually opts for explosive rants. It's somewhat unsettling. Blaise can't remember the last time he'd seen Draco so upset. Blaise doesn't feel physically threatened, but to fight back when Draco is this livid would only serve to further humiliate his friend, and Blaise isn't out to do that. Like the expression on his face, his hands rest passively at his sides.

Draco snarls. "You have no idea how much the Quidditch Cup means to me, do you?" It's a question Blaise knows that Draco doesn't want him to answer.

"We can still win it, Draco," Blaise assures him.

"It's slipping from me. This is my only chance, Blaise. I get one chance." Draco brandishes a finger between Blaise's eyes to further demonstrate his point as the other hand pushes him harder against the wall. "ONE. One chance to do something positive. One chance for the Malfoy name to go down in history instead of infamy at this school." Draco is gritting his teeth and growling now, their faces so close that water from Draco's hair is dripping onto Blaise's lips. "I'll be DAMNED if my best mate fucks this up."

"I'm sorry, Draco." Blaise sincerely apologizes without sounding meek. "I should have known how important this is to you. I should not have let my guard down, even though we were up by a hundred points."

Draco punctuates each word abruptly, poking Blaise in the chest, articulating to convey his anger, "Sorry. Isn't. Going. To. Cut. It."

Blaise is getting annoyed. He's already apologized twice and has allowed Draco to overpower him. "What more do you want me to do? Suck your cock?"

Draco's palm smacks Blaise on the forehead, pushing the back of his head to the wall. "Don't be smart."

That's the last straw. Blaise can be reasonable and placate Draco for the sake of their friendship, but Draco has gone too far. Blaise glares and shoves Draco away so hard that he stumbles back several steps, nearly falling. "Why'd you have to hit me, prick? I was joking."

Clearly, Blaise was doing the opposite of diffusing the situation, as evident by Draco's swift return. Blaise finds himself pushed against the wall again. Draco is sneering at him with his arm over Blaise's chest, looking superior and drawling condescendingly "We both know you're not. You'd just love to get your hands on my cock again."

Blaise is stronger. He's managed to get out from between Draco and the wall to pin the other boy, face first against the tiles with his arm pinned behind his back. "Is that so wrong?" Blaise smirks with his lips at Draco's ear.

"I… It's…" For once, Draco is speechless. Blaise wonders if it means Draco is opening up to the idea he'd been reluctant to entertain before.

Somehow, this scuffle has ceased to be about quidditch. Blaise is happy to divert Draco's attention to another subject, though it's still a very touchy one. He lets up on Draco's arm and remains behind him with his hands now caressing Draco's shoulders reassuringly. "I'm not trying to change the way you feel about Theodore, nor am I trying to jeopardize your relationship."

"I know," Draco says softly. "But Theodore doesn't think like you and I do. He can't separate sex and love."

Blaise gently kneads the muscles of Draco's shoulders. He can feel the tension releasing. He's diffusing the bomb and (half)unwittingly lighting another fire. Blaise can't help his arousal, not when Draco's body is so close, and so fit, and so wet and so… Mmmph. The opportunity is there – they're alone and half naked. Blaise is trying to be a friend, but he can't help the fact that he's also a randy teen-age boy that enjoys the delights of other horny teen-age boys. He says earnestly, "I know I can't undo my muck up today, but I can try to make it up to you."

He slowly strokes a hand down the graceful line of Draco's delicately muscled back, admiring the way the water beads and trickles in crystalline rivulets that scintillate over his alabaster skin. He reaches around to trace the outline of Draco's cock through the towel. Sincerity gives way to seduction as Blaise intones smoothly, "Let go of your anger, Draco. Let me help you forget about the match." He can feel Draco responding to his touch. He purrs against the back of Draco's neck and relishes his clean scent as his lips brush the damp skin. "I can make you feel so good if you'll only let me."

Draco shudders and moans quietly, in contrast to his words. "We've been here before. It won't end in your favor. I'll never bottom for you – you know that."

Blaise remembers that night in the dorms not long ago. Theodore was sick in the hospital wing and Draco had been unabashedly flirting with Blaise all day. Blaise and Draco found themselves alone, jerking each other off desperately. He'd been greedy and tried to make Draco suck him off, which offended him and sent him storming away.

Blaise chuckles softly. "If you'd given me the chance, you would have found out that I'm versatile." He's slowly stroking Draco's erection through the towel.

"You're what?" Draco asks. He's pitifully new to the gay lifestyle and isn't up on all the terminology yet.

Blaise doesn't have the time or the patience to school Draco on the finer details of what it means, so he opts to show him. He turns Draco around and slinks down to his knees. "I can make you come." He unravels the towel around Draco's waist, curls his long fingers around Draco's erection, and begins to languidly stroke him. "You don't have to touch me if you don't want to."

"But… But, we can't… Theodore will…" Draco can't even formulate an excuse, let alone complete a sentence. Blaise grins smugly and wraps his lips around the head of Draco's cock, mouthing it wetly. Draco's eyes flutter closed and his head tilts back, sighing in ecstasy. "Oh gods… Don't…" Blaise swiftly envelops the entire length before Draco has the opportunity to protest. "…Don't stop."

He sees that Draco's hands are balled into tight fists at his sides as if he's desperately fighting the urge to touch him. He knows Draco will rationalize that this isn't cheating if he never touches Blaise. Blaise doesn't think it's cheating, regardless - it's just sex. He understands and respects that Draco can still love Theodore with all his heart even though all of his cock happens to be firmly lodged inside Blaise's throat. Besides, Theodore will never know.

Draco's cock is so lovely. Like Draco, it is slender and long, marble-smooth and perfect. It has a sort of elegance to it, the way it arises regally from a soft tuft of lucent blond curls. Blaise closes his eyes and savors the way it feels as his wet lips glide over Draco's turgid flesh. His tongue cradles the underside as he swathes Draco with the moist heat of his mouth. He can taste the subtle salty-bitter-sweetness of pre-come seeping from the slit of Draco's erection. The taste is familiar. He tasted it on Theodore's tongue when he kissed him the night they had a ménage-a-trois.

Draco and Theodore like to pretend that night never happened, but Blaise remembers it starkly. One can never forget the intimacy of two cocks sharing one lovingly stretched hole. As decadent as that night was, it was still full of stipulations and restrictions. It had been planned for weeks as a Christmas gift from Theodore to Draco – the fulfillment of a longtime fantasy. It was too thought-out; not spontaneous enough. Even after having a taste of Draco through his lover, there was still so much left unexplored.

Such as this – the delight of Draco's luscious cock plunging effortlessly down Blaise's throat.

Draco is moaning now, declaring Blaise's prowess wordlessly. From the tightness of Draco's sack in Blaise's gentle grasp, Blaise can tell that Draco is already close to coming. Blaise lets his towel fall to the floor and fists his own erection, trying furiously to catch up with Draco. Merlin forbid, he gets Draco off before himself – he knows Draco won't help him come. Blaise is fantasizing about fucking Draco against the wall with reckless abandon. He's visualizing the sublime beauty of his ebony perfection sinking into Draco's exquisite, snow-white arse.

Blaise's head is bobbing over Draco's lap with cheek-hollowing fervor. Draco is swearing and praising deities, and too close to the edge. Blaise extracts Draco's length in favor of teasing the reddened head with his tongue while he brings himself closer to climax. Draco is not very pleased with this abrupt change of events.

"Don't fucking tease me," Draco reprimands, his voice deep and ragged with lust. He takes Blaise by the back of the head, holds his cock at its base, and smacks it against Blaise's lips. "Suck it, you slut."

Blaise turns his face away, his brow furrowed with concentration, his fist battering away at his own cock with determination. "Wait. I'm not ready." He's too busy to fully explain.

"Like Hell, you're not, you selfish prat," Draco spits with frustration, then takes control of the situation while Blaise is distracted. But Blaise rather likes it when Draco is confident and forceful.

Draco is kneeling behind him, pummeling Blaise's cock with one fist while the other furiously pulls on his own. Blaise can feel the slick tip brushing against the furrow of his arse. He's quickly unraveling under Draco's command and moans a wanton plea. "Fuck me, Draco." He presses his arse against him like a needy whore.

Between the panting breaths that tease the sensitive skin on Blaise's neck, Draco huffs a weak, "No."

"You want it, Draco. You've always wanted it." Blaise is rutting against him, desperate for Draco's cock. They're so fucking close, more close than they will likely ever be again. "Fuck me, Draco," he says invitingly.

"Shut up. Stop saying that," Draco whines with desire coloring his voice heavily. Blaise can tell he's breaking him down with a mere three words.

Blaise reaches back to clench his fingers into the hair behind Draco's head. He speaks with a sultry drawl, seducing him like a snake in the Garden of Eden. "Fuck me, Draco."

Draco pushes Blaise down with a firm hand on the back of his neck and groans an exasperated defeat. "You're a manipulative bitch, you know that?"

Blaise grins smugly over his shoulder and says haughtily, "Yes, I am. Now fuck me. Hard."

Soon Draco's cock is searing through the tight muscles of Blaise's arse too quickly. It's been a while since he's been fucked, and to do so with such little preparation is not exactly pleasant. Somehow, Draco's complete disregard for Blaise's comfort manages to turn him on. He's always been an unapologetic arsehole, and Blaise has always admired that about him.

Blaise is beginning to melt and blossom around Draco's cock, inviting him deeper. His own erection stirs with renewed vigor and begs to be touched. As to be expected, Draco is too busy pounding away to take care of Blaise. Not that he minds taking his pleasure into his own hands.

"Bet you can't come before I do," challenges Draco. Leave it to him to turn this into a game. But really, wasn't it always a game?

Blaise smirks and yanks on his cock determinately. He could get off just from the chorus of Draco's melodic moans and the carnal, rhythmic smack of wet bodies colliding. It's so fucking beautiful.

He's quite close now. The tip of Draco's cock is pressing against his prostate, making him dizzy with euphoric pleasure. "Circe! Fuck me, Draco, just like that. Oh gods…"

Draco's body is draped over his, so closely that he can feel his heart pounding against his back. Draco's erratic breaths mingle with Blaise's own ragged gasps – it's as if they're breathing each other's air. Draco's sensual moans reverberate through Blaise's body – their sexual energy is vibrating at the same wavelength. The smell of Draco's sweat. The coppery taste of adrenaline and blood in his biting kiss. The heat of his cock driven to the hilt inside Blaise's tight channel. Blaise's every sensation is monopolized by Draco Malfoy. And it's making him come hard.

Draco isn't far behind and spurts hotly inside of Blaise soon after.

Blaise pants and breathily declares his triumph. "I got there first."

"Pity you couldn't say the same about the quaffle." Draco pulls out and playfully smacks Blaise on the arse.

"Fuck you, Draco." Blaise chuckles amusedly.

"You got served, boy." He drawls.

In the end, it's all about the game.