What: Blaise is very upfront, and Chandler is okay with that.
Where: The Dormatory, during lunch.
N.B. - This log took about 4-5 days to finish. APPRECIATE. And, on an off note, I recently discovered that talking about oneself eccessively is common for those trained in etiquitte, to carry on a conversation. Man, I sao have ICD* right now. (As opposed to OOCD. Har har.)
Chandler Warrington hadn't opened his mouth much today - as was the norm. He often pondered whether this was the only reason he wasn't made a prefect this year or not, for if it was judged by grades alone he'd have the position hands down. But today his lack of speech was marked by memories of his past and recollection of only a few nights before. It was as if he'd become a child all over again - learning to speak slow and emphasise his sounds, pay attention, keep organized. Indeed, he had seemed to be thrown back in time or torn up and magicked back together that night on the pitch with Blaise Zabini. But even so, he did not want to stop thinking about it; stop wondering why. They hadn't spoken lately - and the difference in their sleep patterns kept them seperate. Chandler wasn't bothered. In due time they'd speak again, and perhaps he'd once again perceive the strange and wonderful feeling he'd had that night. Until then, nothing has changed. He was still fascniated. He contempated this as he ascended the stairs to the Boy's Dormatory, sometime after classes had ended.
Blaise was in a frenzy inside of the Boys' Dormitories. For a long time, his large, mainly unused sketchbook had remained at the bottom of his trunk, it's pages crisp and white. Tonight, however, that had changed. As thoughts raced through his mind about a certain evening a few nights past and a certain boy whom he hadn't spoken a word to since said night, he grew restless in his need to let all of his feelings out. Unfortunately that boy, Chandler Warrington, was not in the Dorms when he entered, so he had to settle for second best. Now, he was pacing nervously back and forth, the jagged end of a sugar quill dangling haphazardly from the corner of his mouth as his hand worked furiously across a page with the small piece of charcoal he had found. Blaise jumped onto his bed moments before he heard the door to the Dormitories open, glancing up with a startled, wide eyed look at the one who's face was now gracing his page. Frozen for but a moment, he quickly recovered, slamming shut the book and tossing it under his bed, attempting to look casual about it.
Chandler opened the door to the Dormatory slowly and carefully, shutting it behind him before he even glanced into the room. He'd expected it to be empty - afterall, he was one of the few students who didn't attend lunch regularly. His eyes were greeted with the image of Blaise standing before him, the Sugar Quill between his lips seconds away from meeting the floor, peices of the feathery confection falling into his robes. Chandler hadn't expected to see him, but his expression gave no indication of surprise - opposite of Blaise's very flustered and feigned nonchalant stance. Chandler walked toward his own bed, still eyeing his friend. "Afternoon, Blaise. No lunch today?" He spoke smoothly and gently, visibly cautious about his words as he laid his books by his bedside in order that he was to complete their assignments later, aligning the edges of the texts. "And I thought you ate like that for every meal." Chandler said in silent reference to the night he'd witnessed Blaise eating dinner.
Feeling his heart beginning to palpitate uncomfortably, Blaise plopped down onto the side of his bed, unconscious of the Sugar Quill falling to the floor as he began to speak. "I...No, I don't. I - er - I don't eat often. I have strange eating habits," he managed to splutter, looking down and fingering his excessively loose robes as if they were able to attest to his statement. His eyes fell on the broken pieces of the Sugar Quill, and he picked them up and tossed them into a dustbin, grabbing a fresh one from the drawer of his nightstand. He began to gnaw at the end of it as he sat down once more on the edge of his bed, eyes glancing around nervously during an awkward silence, which matched his feelings perfectly.
Chandler raised his eyebrows inexpressivley, noticing Blaise's apparent discomfort that he imagined had only manifested upon his entering the Dorms. He sat on his own bed and breathed in deeply, in an attempt to preserve his own cool composure. For some reason, he was determined to prove to this boy that the fluthered and nervous display he'd put on at their last meeting was not how he was naturally. "Me neither. I eat to nourish myself, unlike some of the gluttons in this school who seem to veiw it as a hobby." Chandler opened his mouth slightly and let through an expression of recalling, reaching down to the neat pile of books and taking the smallest off the top. " I hope you don't stop lending me these.I finished it. Truly brilliant. Fascinating" He slowly stood, making his way in short steps to Blaise's own bed. He looked down at the cover and examined it before handing it over to his friend. "They say the content of one's reading material says alot about the individual." Chandler glanced up into Blaise's eyes collectively.
Soundlessly, Blaise looked to Chandler for a few tense moments as his hand instinctively grasped for the book being held out to him. Chandler's words had shocked him, not unpleasantly, and the feeling that he was free-falling coursed through his veins. What was he waiting for? He had wanted to meet the boy when he entered the Dorms that day, and now Blaise's wish had been granted... so what was stopping him? When he found that he could not find a satisfactory answer for this question besides one, he decided to answer it, inadvertently muttering aloud, "Nothing." With that, Blaise tossed the book aside and lunged at Chandler, pushing him back against the post of his neighbor's bed and placing a rough, forceful kiss upon the other boy's lips.
Chandler observed Blaise's reaction carefully, and before he knew it he was pinned against the bedpost, the smallest distance he'd ever experienced between himself and another person currently present, and he didn't mind. Chandler squeezed his eyes shut and returned the kiss, his arms hanging limp and useless at his side. The feeling of intoxication had returned as his senses were enveloped by everything that was Blaise. He had no idea how to do this. As long as that was okay with Blaise, it was okay with him.
Blaise could think of no better place to be right now, nothing better to be doing. His mind at that moment was enraptured with thoughts that would completely appall anyone if they were to be revealed. However, voices cut through his bliss, and Blaise pulled away, looking warily at the door as he heard footsteps close behind. "I hear..." were the only words he uttered as he looked back to Chandler, realising that he didn't care in the least if he were seen right then and there. For a moment, he briefly considered not moving and dismissed the thought as more acceptable idea entered his head. In one swift motion, he pulled further away from Chandler and closed in on his bed, bringing the boy with him. Just as the door opened, and the voices grew louder, Blaise closed the hangings around his bed, enshrouding the two in a protective blanket of darkness. Groping blindly as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Blaise grabbed onto Chandler's shoulder, pushing him down fiercely as he draped himself over his friend. "Excited?" he whispered through the impenetrable blackness, taken aback by his own words. It was as if some unknown force was controlling his actions.
Chandler's ears had only vaguely perceived the sounds behind the doors, but he didn't protest to being drunkenly lead towards the bed. he didn't have a voice any longer, though he knew if it were to come out he'd be slurring his words just as he had done when he was young. Every part of him was now submissive to Blaise's every action, and as he was pushed into the soft matress, bright blue eyes ablaze with some sort of animalistic urge over his own. "Yes." He replied shortly and breathlessly, in response to the low and raspy voice above him. His arms that lay motionless at his side groped for the edges of the boy's robes, tugging at them desperately when they were located. He wanted to be kissed again - he needed this contact.
Chandler's voice coming from beneath him was only a faint echo cutting through the ringing, nonsensical thoughts whizzing through his brain. He had been in this situation before a few times, and it felt to him as if he was moving without thinking, blindly feeling his hands snake their way onto the boy's bare flesh, just above his belt. His lips closed in, and he forced them to hover in the air just above Chandler's. "Good," he whispered silkily, letting the rest of the distance dissolve into another frantic, burning kiss. He pulled away rather quickly, gliding his tongue across the nape of the boy's neck, ending it's travels with a quick nip and a low chuckle.
Chandler had no idea what to expect from Blaise. He had little insinuation that this would be the impact of his actions the night before. He found himself shivering in a feeling of captivation when Blaise's hands made contact with his skin. He fidgeted slightly - he wasn't used to being touched, let alone in such an area. But he succumbed to the other boy's touch instantly - feeling very much as if he would have allowed Blaise to do just about anything right here. The thought of how he'd manage his deisheveled appearence just barely had time to process through his mind when he felt the invasion on his neck, responing with an audible sigh and a quivering jaw. "Blaise." He whispered, more as a statement than a summoning, though he felt he needed to speak to this intriguing specimen somehow. Explain to him the meaning of something he himself didn't understand.
"Yes?" he whispered against Chandler's neck, feeling his own hot breath ricocheting back to him. At that moment, he seemed to regain his former self a bit; the new Blaise, the one whom he would let take over on occasions such as this, dissolved silghtly, and the former Blaise used the slip as a foothold of sorts, and emerged worried and slightly confused. He eased up off of the boy slightly, propped up with his hand on either side of Chandler. He swallowed nervously, and raised a brow as he asked, his voice low and wavering slightly, "Too much?"
Chandler was beginning to wonder if he'd ever regain his composure again. A million thoughts rushing through his mind, he allowed his eyes to shut, still shaking as Blaise whispered against his neck, sending chilld down his spine. He couldn't find a sensible comment to make, and soundlessly mouthed a stutter. "I ... I." He was confused however, when the boy pulled away, opening his eyes slowly and looking over him with wonder, surprised by the quick change in character. He found his reflexes, however and grabbed the ends of Blaise's robes. He didn't want him to quit was he was doing. This was a new and altogether enthralling experience. "No. Please." His eyes widened, pulling at him a bit. "Don't stop." He spoke fluidly, his tone not changing - though he felt very much as if he was begging.
The worrying was quickly purged from Blaise's mind when he heard Chandler utter something very close to begging. He smiled, returning to his previous ventures with a fresh vigor. Leaning down, he kissed him deeply once more, nibbling a bit more forcefully at Chandler's bottom lip and allowed himself to relax. Slowly, almost inadvertently, he felt his hips begin to buckle, moving back and forth in a steady, rhythmic motion.
Chandler welcomed the return of his previous attitude by squeezing his eyes shut tight once again, Blaise's teeth running along his lip starting to become rather painful - though he didn't care. It was Blaise who knew what he was doing, and he was in what seemed to be an irreversable state of pleasure when he felt the boy's hips moving against his own. His eyes snapped open quickly and he felt the warmth ride in his cheeks. He dared not to stop him, but felt himself becoming flustered - feeling as if he'd be very embarassed if it became visible. Chandler's eyes flitted around and finally came to rest on Blaise's hand. Those same scars he noticed once before now protruded and he found himself focusing on them intently - wondering where they were from, and why they marked his otherwise flawless skin. Chandler removed one hand from Blaise's robes and reached out to the other boys', running his fingers over the raised skin gently.
Blaise was very content with the state of things as they were at that moment. The turn of events had been quite unexpected; he himself didn't quite know how he'd gotten in this position. However, he didn't mind in the least. Unexpectedly, he felt Chandler's fingers trace over the raised and discoloured scars on his hand. Shivering, he stopped moving and pulled back from the kiss, vaguely noting he'd left a slight indentation on the boy's skin. He turned to look at his hand, panting slightly. "My scars..." he whispered, not quite sure how to react to Chandler's touch. He looked back to his friend, seeing that he was taking an obvious interest in them.
Chandler was now focusing entirely on the boy's hands, sitting up slightly and pulling both of them toward him, tracing the scars in their exact shape. "How did you get them?" He inquired softly, cocking his head to the side. he was very interested in them, and barely noticed the marks that could be felt on his lips, the hint of a taste of copper in his mouth.
Blaise sat back resignedly, allowing Chandler to closely examine his hands. For some reason, he felt his cheeks grow warm. "It's quite a long story," he said in a low voice, his words coming out slightly rushed. Looking up, he studied the boy's face intently, looking again at the-- wound? could he call it that?-- that he'd inflicted on Chandler, realising it was bleeding slightly. His embarrassment increased slightly, debating with himself whether or not to inform the boy. "Y-you're bleeding..." he finally blurted out, moving his gaze downward.
Chandler looked up quickly from Blaise's hands, still rubbing the scars with his thumbs. "I'd like to hear it ... if you don't mind." He said plainly, looking Blaise in the eyes. He gingerly touched his lip, pulling his finger away and noting the black-red substance. He looked around quickly .. he didn't like blood, it made him uneasy. He finally reached inside his robes, noticing his untucked and rumpled shirt and pulled out a handkercheif, trying to wipe it,but leaving a smear across his lips. "And ... about your family." he quickly added. He was feeling more guilty than he hould for what he'd said about Blaise's parens the other night.
Blaise shrugged, feeling rather uneasy about the whole ordeal behind the scars. When Chandler reached into his robes to find a handkerchief, he seized the opportunity and pulled his hands back, now rubbing the scars on one hand with the other. "I...well- I, er.. I punched a mirror..." he said rather lamely, stumbling over his words. He cast a sidelong glance as the boy pulled out the handkerchief and wiped away the smear, smiling weakly. Noticing the smear, he hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward. "Wait..." he grabbed Chandler's chin and held it firmly as he wiped away the remainder of the smear with his thumb. He sat back, laughing a bit. "Sorry," he shrugged once more, mumbling, "There's not much to hear."
Chandler raised his eyebrows slightly as Blaise gave his ambiguous confession. He made to look back at his hand, but found his face cupped by the other boy, once again losing his train of thought and noticing the red on Blaise's thumb. "Thank you." he said quietly, licking the taste of his fingers off his lips, before shaking his head and looking back into Blaise's eyes intensely. "You must have been pretty angry then. But why?"
"I don't really have good reasons. I just lose control of my temper sometimes..." Blaise paused for a moment, turning to look at Chandler, "This time it was a fight. With one of my good friends, Pansy... You know her." He was going to carry on, hoping to keep the conversation clear of his family, but decided that it would be better not to go into the details of their argument...at least not then. He glanced down once more, rubbing his thumb a bit to rid his skin of the crimson stain.
"Oh." Chandler stated dumbly, thinking about this for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I do know Pansy. We had a brief conversation the night before. She speaks very highly of you." Chandler was becoming his usual nosy and over-talkative self again. He was satisfied with that answer for now, but Blaise did leave something out. "I see you can get angry.." He smirked a bit, recalling the other night. 'As do I." Chandler lowered his head and peeked under Blaise's own to catch his downcast eyes. 'And your family. What are they like? ...What was your mum like?"
Blaise smiled warmly at Chandler's comment about Pansy. Before he could ask what she had said about him, he saw that the boy had ducked under his protective fringe of hair and was asking him once more about his family. He couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the boy's persistence. "My sister's nothing like me. She's talkative and all that. Has a lot of friends," he fidgeted a bit. No one had ever asked him about his family, "My mum...she was wonderful...everything a mother should be. I was always with her, and she always took care of me. She was just a good person, there's no other way to put it... No bad side, not a mean bone in her body..." his voice trailed off as he turned a shade of crimson. Shaking his head, he said, "Sorry, I'm rambling," With a scowl, he finished tersely, "My father. Well... he's everything but."
Chandler grinned back at Blaise's smile, encouraged that he was now getting somewhere. In response, he sat back and listened intently to his description, nodding and blinking at all the right moments. " I do believe all fathers are stern with their sons. They wish to raise them as they learned - or so my father did. Your mother sounds like she was a lovely woman. And who is to say that you don't have friends?" Chandler smirked. "I'm an only child. So my family isn't nearly as interesting. I was born on December 8th, raised in Manchester. We live in the estate that was my grandfather's." He shrugged, proceeding to talk, though Blaise hadn't inquired. "Not much goes on there. We hold tea meets and Balls during each season, but there's not much more. Oh, then there's Edaline. But I suppose you've read about her." Chandler looked away, suddenly somewhat embarassed.
Blaise couldn't help but chuckle at Chandler's short biography. "Sounds utterly enthralling," he said, suppressing another laugh, "But I can't say that I agree with you about your observation of fathers..." He paused for a moment, looking down once more to study the scars on his hands. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Blaise lifted his head up and snorted as he said, as if this were a sudden revelation, "Tea meets?"
Chandler picked up from Blaise's tone that he hardly wished to continue the topic of his parents, so he turned the conversation back to himself. "Tea meets. They're just formal little parties mother likes to hold. She usually invites close friends and entertains." He explained, waving his hand about. "Unfortunately I'm usually something they find very entertaining." Chandler frowned and sighed, biting his lip, but wincing when he felt the pain that simple habit caused.
Blaise looked at Chandler, studying him closely. "Doesn't surprise me at all," he muttered, grinning sheepishly as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. Hoping to spare himself a bit of embarrassment, he leaned forward, placing another kiss on the boy's lips, this one much softer than the rest as he was mindful of what he'd already inflicted upon him.
Chandler's eyes widened, his lips pursed, and feeling his own cheeks burn - the two rubbing together and causing a wam sensation that made up for the lack of force in this kiss - transferring just as much energy and excitement as the previous ones. They separated dreamily, Chandler's body once again rendered useless before one of his senses proved it's presence and he noted the hum that were low conversations in the common room. "Lunch is over. I'd be'er -" Chandler took a deep breath and regained his composure, saying cooly. "I'd better be going off to class." He looked down regretfully.
Mimicking Chandler, Blaise looked down ruefully. "Yeah. You're right..." he whispered quietly. For a moment, he didn't move in hopes that perhaps Chandler would change his mind, though he knew he wouldn't. Sitting back, he motioned for the boy to keep quiet as he opened the hangings. Peeking his head out, he took a quick look around the empty Dormitories, and said, "It's clear. Everyone's gone," as he swung the green bedhangings open. He got up off the bed, smoothing his trousers out a bit and redoing his robes as he turned back toward the boy.
Chandler tried to peer out along with Blaise, but when the coast was announced clear he slipped out easily, immediately catching his own replection in a mirror across the room. "Oh, no." He said reproachfully, and grimaced, tucking his shirt back in and flattening his hair, unaware that it was even worse in the back. He straightened his robes, and once he was satisfied with his dress, turned back to Blaise. The two stood there awkwardly for a few moments - surely Blaise would end this somehow soon? But he didn't. Chandler had no idea what he was supposed to do after what seemed like a minute, so he sighed, stepping in and nearly having to stand on his toes to run his lips over Blaise's bottom lip, taking a chance and resting his hand on the other boy's chest. He pulled away slowly, eyes still closed and lips red and swollen. Chandler fidgeted before collecting his books and walking toward the door, one final random thought from that fateful night returning to his mind. "Oh - and." He called back. "Your speak French beautifully." He grinned slightly, pushing past the door and leaving Blaise at last - trying to fight the growing grin all the way to his class.