And So it Begins Part 2
Saturday night and Woody’s is packed.
You step over towards the bar when you don’t see Brian right away. The bar tender recognizes you from the other night and instead of carding you, he simply smiles and asks what you’re having. You order a pint. Your need is not so desperate tonight, so your alcohol is not so hard.
You sip your beer slowly, taking in the sights around you and think back on your first few days away from magic. It had felt as if some part of you had been cut away. Leaving you naked and exposed without your wand. You often found yourself reaching out for it unconsciously. Never having been without it over the long months of the war, when you would not even sleep without it clutched in your hand. Without it, you had wallowed and floundered. Uncertain, and even a bit afraid.
But eventually your Slytherin instinct for survival had kicked in. You began to quietly observe, and after a week of lurking, finally ventured out in the world. You needed food and money and something to fill your days.
The job was easy to get, no experience necessary. The espresso machine was a mind-boggling contraption. But from the amount of training your manager gave you, it seemed like most Muggles didn’t know how to use it either. You let your Englishness be an excuse for not knowing how to use the Muggle money. Played up your blondness when you didn’t recognize the names Bill Clinton and Tony Blair. Acted shy, which is so often interpreted incorrectly, so that people would simply leave you be.
But now, though you do not feel at ease or at home, you are not lost. You know how to make it through your day. Get a taxi. Pay for groceries. Answer the telephone. You recognize the overly dramatic game show that is being shown on that thing called a television. You understand what the bright posters for upcoming community events are advertising. You would even go so far as to say that, on some level, you appreciate Muggles. Impressed with how comfortable they have made the world without the help of magic. Finding simple and earnest ways to bring joy into their lives.
Some of the men at the bar with you are attractive in their own right. But most are either trying too hard, having spent too many hours in the gym, or are too comely and awkward to even warrant another look.
Their plainness makes you sit up a little straighter. Smirk a little deeper. You have already caught the eyes of several men sweeping up and down your lithe frame. Their looks do not surprise you in your slim, dark jeans, which show off your “assets” quite nicely. A thin, heather- gray sweater, sleeves shoved up to your elbows, hangs smoothly over your narrow shoulders and chest. Mother always thought you were too skinny, but these men didn’t seem to mind.
And neither does Brian.
You finally see him, sitting towards the back of the bar at a high, circular table, surrounded by a ragtag group of men. You let your lips and brow soften, but you keep your expression nonplussed as you catch and hold his radiant gaze. This stoic look is hard to achieve as your heart begins to pound strongly, deep in your chest. Did he get even more striking in the last day?
He returns the weighted look, letting his eyes speak to you across the room, much like he had only a few nights before. But there is no hunt in them tonight. Simply recognition. Memory. And a veiled form of relief. He wasn’t sure you’d come. Or that he’d be so pleased that you had.
With a gentle inclining of his head, he invites you to join him at the table. You grab your beer and saunter over, not wanting to seem over eager.
He watches you approach and finally cracks a small grin when you reach the table.
“Fancy seeing you here.” He says.
You cock your head slightly. “Yes, imagine that.” He grabs a stool for you, pulling it up to the table.
The three other men sitting with Brian stare at you in various states of interest or, in the case of the small dark man at Brian’s left elbow, disgust.
“Draco, this is Emmett Honeycutt, Theodore Schmitt and my best friend since I was 14, Michael Novotney. Everyone this is Draco Malfoy.” You say hello, smiling as warmly as you can and take your seat.
“Draco and I were snow bound together for the last few days.”
“So that’s why you didn’t call me? You were with him?” The one you now know as Michael says.
“Well, you couldn’t expect me to be all alone could you? I could have frozen.” Brian says lightly, garnering grins from Ted and Emmett and an eye roll from Michael.
“Well, he is quite the cutie.” Emmett says, stirring his pink drink with gusto.
“Yes, even by your standards, Bri.” Ted adds.
“And the accent. I am a total sucker for English accents.” You blush slightly as Emmett gives you a wink.
“Isn’t he a bit young?” Michael says, tossing a nasty glare in your direction.
Brian leans away from you, giving you an appraising eye. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty in June.”
“Don’t tell the bartender.” Ted mumbles.
“Don’t worry,” you say, looking back towards the bar, the remnants of your spell still tingling on your fingertips. “He and I have an understanding.” You turn back to Brian. “Why how old are you?”
The group laughs and Brian grumbles, taking a large drink. “He’ll be 29 in May. Thinks the world is ending.” Ted answers for him, with clear derision in his tone.
“That’s not so bad.” You say, and then lean in towards Brian, speaking in a stage whisper so everyone can hear. “I’ve had older.”
“Oh, do tell.” Emmett exclaims, ready for the dish.
“The first guy who ever…you know.” You gesture with your hand and let your eyes bug out of your head a bit. Everyone nods.
“How old was he?” Ted asks.
“Few years younger than my father. 36, 37. I was 16. He was my pot…political science professor.”
“Ooohoo…scandal!” Emmett says laughing.
“That almost beats your story, Brian.” Ted says, with a smirk.
“Yeah. Almost.” Brian points at himself with a thumb. “14. Gym teacher.”
You shake your head. “Why am I not surprised?” This warrants a grin from Brian and another laugh from the whole table. Except for Michael, of course, who still seems completely put off by your presence.
Time flies. You laugh at Emmett’s imitations, even though you have no idea who this “Cher” person is. You catch bits of an old story about Brian’s high school days, as the two old friends rehash it for their own mutual amusement. You find yourself talking to Theodore and actually enjoying it. Nodding along to his surprisingly intelligent commentary on the fin de siecle art exhibit, currently on display at the Pittsburgh Art Museum. You feel slightly sheepish when you admit you didn’t even know Pittsburgh had an art museum.
At some point you feel Brian’s hand on your inner thigh under the table where no one else can see. The touch is heavy and unexpected and it makes your stomache flutter. A few minutes later, Brian leans towards you to catch your ear. “You want to get out of here?”
You look at him slyly. “Thought you’d never ask.”
He grabs his coat and throws some money on the table. “I’m leaving.” He says bluntly.
“With him?” Michael asks as you stand up too.
“So what if I am?” He asks, a hint of venom piercing the words.
“It’s just…You…Un-fucking-believable.” Michael sputters then huffs, arms crossed and indignant.
Brian plants a kiss on the top of Michael’s dark head and whispers. “Don’t do the jealous wife routine. It doesn’t become you.” Michael’s head snaps up, a well-practiced look of outrage on his face.
“I am not jealous.” He states, in overly loud tones. You hear a shared snicker from Ted and Emmett and suddenly you understand his behavior towards you much more completely
Brian simply rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the door.
Once outside you start to head in the direction of the parking lot where you can already see the profile of Brian’s jeep towering above the others. But then his body is pressed against you and his hand, flat on your chest, pulls you back against him. You can feel, as well as see, his warm breath as it passes against your ear.
“Where do you think you’re going?” You feel a kiss work it’s way under the collar of your jacket.
“Your car.” You say, stating what you think is the obvious.
“Wrong. Too far.” His long legs begin banging against the back of yours as he leads you to a small alleyway. There are a few other men in various states of coupling there too, not dissuaded by the cold. You forget their presence quickly as Brian pushes you towards the wall. You catch yourself with your hands, letting your arms bend as if in a vertical push up.
He starts to undo the buttons of your long overcoat, the heavy layer of wool falling away, creating a small pocket of warmth in front of you. Brian stands behind you, letting his back take the brunt of the wind. You wonder if he realizes how protected you feel.
“Fuck,” He pants as he undoes your belt. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
“What? Jerking me off in a freezing cold alley?” You grunt, managing somehow to still sound sarcastic.
“No.” He laughs gently. “Getting my hands on you. Filling up your perfect ass with my perfect cock.” He whispers, resting his head on your shoulder.
“Perfect are we?”
“Well,” He smiles as his fingers curl carefully around you. “I am.”
“I’ll have you know, you are not fucking me here.”
He shudders at the cold. “No, I suppose not.” Your breath catches as he thumbs your slit. “I’ll just have to wait to rip these clothes off you until we get back to my place. I’m gonna spank you until your lilywhite ass turns pink and then rim you until you’re screaming for it and finally...finally, when I slam into you, it’ll be so fucking hard you’ll pass out.”
His voice is rough, raw, and his touch matches. He is not delicate or careful, but fast with a frenzied edge. You gasp, but you do not complain. Quite the opposite, you moan and beg for more.
“And you know what?” He whispers. “You’ll love every second of it. Because you can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of feeling me inside you. The way my cock fills you up. Splits you open. You just can't get enough, can you?” You whimper, a pathetic half sob. Your nails scrape against the wall and you feel some of the brick crumble underneath them.
You swallow thickly as he presses closer. “Can you?” He asks again, softer, more insistant.
Finally your mouth forms the word “No” and escapes your lips in the form of a cry just as the icy burn of your orgasm takes you, shooting threads of milky whiteness against the wall. You cry out to answer your question, but also in disappointment that it has all ended so soon.
He tucks you back into your pants, then places he hands next to yours on the wall, his legs spread wide to fit your body between them. He is still for a moment. “Good. Because I am not even close to being done with you.”
He pushes off the wall and starts walking towards the opening of the alley. “You coming?”
Part of your brain tells you to turn him down. Leave him wanting more. But then another part of you screams that you should be sent to the Psych Ward at Saint Mungo’s if you did that, especially after the images he put into your head.
So you thread your fingers through your hair, pull your scarf tight around your ears, clear you throat...and follow Brian.