Peyton stood outside the frosted window of Puddifoots. The multitude of patrons inside constrasted with the cold air outside causing a misty almost dreamy effect on the windows. Mixed with the overtly lavish decorations inside it looked like a dream, or one of those lame muggle movies where boy meets girl, falls in love and faces all odds to be with her. For Peyton Wentworth though, it was a portal to a living nightmare. He watched as happy couples engaged in secret conversations and the awkward tension that was spreading throughout the charity speed dating event. He had contemplated signing himself up for it but decided against it. After all he wouldn't be paired up with the one person he really wanted to be with.

His cool grey blue eyes scanned the glowing crowd of speed daters until they landed on his object of affection chatting up an exotic looking witch. His lips barely curled into a scowl when he brought a flask to them. He had been given a bottle of Firewhiskey amoungst the other more traditional presents for his Seventeenth birthday back in September and he had already drank a quarter of it.

Valentine's was the worse excuse for a holiday. There had once been a time when he had enjoyed it, a very brief fleeting moment the year before. Most years he just felt awkward while everyone else scrambled to get a dance or a snog in with their sweethearts. Peyton had never dated and never felt the urge too. Girls made great friends but romantically, well there had just never been anything there. Then he had been asked to the Valentine's Day Ball by Bella the year before only to find out she had done it to make his half brother - her ex boyfriend - jealous. Before Peyton could get into yet another fist fight with Xavier he had been whisked away by Razzy. By the end of the night and many stolen kisses later he finally understood why girls had never been that romantically interesting for him. Which unfortunately seemed to bring more questions than answers for the Ravenclaw.

He took another long drag from his flask and wiped his mouth on his cloak, "Well oo bloody needs 'em anyway!" He yelled at the glowing pink window of the cafe and stumbled slightly on the cobblestone.

Crummy Saint Valentine’s Day was a crummy damned Holiday.

Only two things worth mentioning had happened over the weekend: one was a special little meeting that might hold great notices for his future, and the other was the sad little fact that Balthazar had brought a girl back this evening. His best mate had been all smiles as he’d struggled against the witch trying to pull his shirt off, and closing the door in Ryder’s face without so much as wondering about where the eighteen year old would go in this weather.

Where he ended up at, was Hogsmeade –which, in retrospect, he might have been able to realize was a terrible idea. But he hadn’t remembered the bloody hearts and laces, the pink and the white, that had been decorating the small village when he’d been there not long before, and he’d simply wanted to get as far away from Balthazar’s flat as possible –the image of the curvy blonde sucking Balthy’s throat was still all too vivid of an image, and one that made him feel a bit homicidal. He still wasn’t entirely sure that painting the day with blood was a terrible idea, but the fact that Balthazar would probably hate him if he turned up and murdered a girl kept him from returning to the flat.

Instead, he walked down the main street of Hogsmeade, footprints trailing behind him, as he exhaled smoke and tapped his fag. The ashes hissed as they burnt in the snow, but the sound of voices a bit further ahead was far more distracting: Puddifoot’s was full, and Ryder suddenly had a vague recollection of a notice in the Prophet –one he hadn’t quite paid attention to, for Balthazar’s lips had been moving at that precise instant, and providing quite a bit of distraction. Still, far more interesting than the people inside and what they may be up to, was the wizard standing outside and taking a sip from a flask. Grin somewhat predatory, he approached quickly.

“Who needs what?” He asked, allowing his paces to slow just a bit as he came up to the bloke and stood by his side, green eyes focusing on through the window. “Flying cupids? People?” He glanced sideways at the flask. “Sobriety?” But through the humor, his eyes were calculating and inspecting and coming to the conclusion that this guy was hot and, hopefully, a distraction from thinking of what Balthazar was up to with Miss Flimsy Undergarments at this very moment.

Peyton turned to the voice without hesitation. Normally his was a bit of a social butterfly, star Quidditch player with plenty of friends, he never had a problem talking with people. A trait that had no problem translating over while inebriated apparently, "All o' it." His voice was a little slurred and his usual proper English was getting a little dirty, "Who need this stupid holiday, with it's stupid flowers and chocolates and fluffy - things! And who need Mace frakkin Steinbeck, right?"

Peyton took another swig from his flask and looked to the new comer, Slytherin if he remembered correctly. Or least he used to be. He had never paid much attention to the older boy while they were at school together, mostly because he didn't get on well with most Slytherins. Now though, with the Whiskey running fiery through his veins he was definitely noticing him, the pale green eyes, chiseled jaw, even the way his fringe lazily hung down over thick lashes. Peyton stood up a little straighter. Puberty had been good to him, not to mention his constant Quidditch playing had turned him into a broad chested mess of muscles.

He offered the flask to the other man, "what about you? What's got you out and about on your own on this oh so glorious holiday?"

Only now, as the warm light from inside Puddifoot’s, did Ryder realize he recognized the bloke as a student –a Ravenclaw, he was almost certain. From his build and some flashing memories, it was almost certain he played Quidditch. And he’d been in fifth year when Ryder had been in seventh. Thus ended the trail of information the eighteen year old had on the cute guy at his side –younger, perhaps, but not enough to determine anything, and certainly less important when one considered Ryder was mostly just interested in a one night fling. And perhaps yet another nice little pawn to play around with –a desire which was only incremented at the mention of one Mace something or another. A male name, which spelt out great possibilities and the lilt of anger in the blonde’s voice, opened up a world of games that could be played.

When the flask was offered, Ryder considered a second, the soft winter breeze dragging through his blonde fringe, before he finally decided to take it. He would not, however, answer the guy’s questions –at least, not yet. Instead, the eighteen year old brought the flask to his lips and downed a long sip that burnt a fierce path down his throat. Quite comforted, he dangled the flask between his fingers as he walked closed to the large window opening into the shop. Reaching it, he placed a foot on the frame, knee bent, an amused smirk on his face at the consideration that he was on the outside looking in –if ever a metaphor for what his life had become. He could see Harry Bloody Potter from here, and so many more he knew. But they’d not pay attention to him, not anymore, not since he was no longer truly a Renwick.

Not for now, at least –not until he took measures.

“You need Milton frakkin Steinback, apparently,” He commented absentmindedly, with a quick shrug of his shoulders as he took another sip of firewhiskey, turning his back on the window and staring at the kid. “Otherwise, you’d be finding some other bloke to snog, instead of moping outside some shop window,” He was assuming too much, but he was hopeful that the stranger really did play for the same team as he did –and, if that were not the case, he’d simply have to pull out his wand and show a snotty student how things were done. Ryder stalked through the snow and towards the boy, stopping at such a short distance from him that, when he held out his arm to offer back the flask, his fingers knocked slightly against a –ohdearmerlin- very toned chest. If not for the fact that he still couldn’t be certain, Ryder would have knocked his lips off with a snog at that very moment in order to simply forget Balthazar –and, with the advantage of his rebound kiss being this hunk. Ryder struggled, but managed, to keep his face cooly in control. “Which one is he?” He questioned.

A crimson blush rose to his cheek as the older man regurgitated his outburst back at him. Had he been sober, or in any sort of proper state of mind he would have been thoroughly embarrassed. It wasn't that he was hiding his sexuality at school, he just wasn't outright blatant with it either, focusing more on Quidditch and the studies he needed to complete to stay on the team. Only a select few knew about his crush on the Salem Senior, not even Mace knew of his feelings, he doubted Mace even knew that he leaned that way to begin with.

"Yeah, if only it were that easy." He smirked and accepted the flask back, a warm sensation running over his skin where Ryder's fingers had brushed, "If ye've ever had a crush, one ye could never act on, ye'd know." Peyton simply assumed that Ryder was like any other bloke he had found attractive in the past. It didn't bother Peyton one bit, so long as they didn't bother him. Thankfully it seemed the kids at school were more interested in blood status than sexuality. He was more likely to get teased for having a muggle mother than for liking boys. It was a crazy world they lived in.

He took a step towards the window and pointed casually towards a nonchalant looking teen with long brown hair talking up an exotic looking woman, "That's him. American. Over here for the Tournament though he doesn't seem to be all that interested in actually competing. Met him over the summer. He has no idea."

He took another swish of his flask and looked at Ryder from the corner of his eye, a playful smile on his drunken lips, "Ye didn't answer me question though. Why are ye all alone tonight? No little Birdie for you to free from her cage?"

Two sips of alcohol were simply not enough to leave him drunk, but like a fire being set in a hearth Ryder could feel a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach as he pulled his hand away from the student’s chest –tempted as he was to let it hover, to explore more and let the bloke be a poor replacement for Balthazar, at least for the night. They stood there, both of them outside of Puddifoot’s, and it was almost as if they were building a Lonely Heart’s Club –only, Ryder was ever more determined by the second that this particular rendezvous would end with them snogging, at the very least. More if he was lucky, and if kissing was not enough to forgo any pondering of the man he loved, back in his flat, snogging some bimbo’s face. Balthazar complicated everything, distracted Ryder from everything he enjoyed, but the eighteen year old would not let that happen tonight: he’d end up pressing against the Ravenclaw and taking everything there was to give, and then he’d toss the boy away like trash and make sure everyone understood who was boss.

He was tempted to let the student know how off mark he was, but instead remained silent, lips pursed, eyebrows delicately cocked, as the attractive male spoke and his torso rose and fell with each breath –and, damn it, he was attractive. The blonde turned his body as Peyton moved a bit closer to the window, his green eyes following the pointed finger to fall on a teenager that was attractive –but not enough for the specimen he had by his side. The fact that this Steinback apparently knew nothing was carefully tucked away in his mind, as there was a world of possibilities that would open up with such knowledge. Tonight, though, was about other games.

As Peyton repeated his question, Ryder reached out and unceremoniously pulled the flask out of the Ravenclaw’s hands and into his own, bringing it to his lips and taking the longest sip he could manage; revealing his emotions was something he was rather against, but for tonight’s agenda he felt he must. With a dry gasp, he pulled the metal from his lips for a second, before taking another long sip, feeling the alcohol burn his insides and enjoying the sensation greatly. Alcohol was hard to come by when your father had disowned you and your best mate felt he shouldn’t be actively paying for it, so the free drink was rather appreciated.

“You never heard any rumors?” It was shocking to learn the school had never pondered about Ryder’s sexuality, but yet more proof he’d done things right: those he knew, knew because he’d told them, but word hadn’t gotten out to the rest of their little puppets. He smirked now, but it was a smile with little humor, as he took one more sip and then handed the flask back towards Peyton. “I’m in love with my best mate, but he’s busy sucking some girl’s face at the moment,” A shrug, and then he was turning and standing right in front of Peyton, but with enough distance so as to not actually touch the Ravenclaw. “So seems we both like men who rather play with girls –what do you think we should do about it?” There was a dangerous yet playful glint in his eyes, a sensual sense to the way his hip was hooked to a side and his lips were slightly parted and cheeks rubbed pink by the cold.

Peyton let out a rough chuckle as Ryder pulled the flask away from him again. He watched the older man take longer sips of the liquid and for a moment wondered if he was going to end up emptying the flask. There was still two thirds of the bottle left back in his dorm but that would mean returning to the castle, alone, and drinking it for himself, alone. Though he was of age now and could probably manage a pint or two in the Three Broomsticks or the Hogs Head if the former was too crowded with holiday goers.

As he watched him, he decided he was more attractive than he remembered him being or perhaps it was just because was looking now. The looks Ryder was giving him back made him wonder if the other man was thinking the same thing. He dismissed it as an effect of the alcohol. After all far as he knew at that moment Ryder was still like every other bloke Peyton had a crush on.

When Ryder inquired about rumors he shook his head. He had never been one for listening to rumors, nor was he someone those that spread them actively sought out. He stuck to his Quidditch and his friends and his abysmal attempt at class work. So whether there were rumors or not about him, it wasn't anything Peyton had heard or paid much attention to.

It wasn't long before Ryder got to the point and Peyton's head started to spin, partly from the firewhiskey, partly from the revelation but mostly from the closeness of the other man. He wanted to know what they should do about it. Here they were, apparently attracted to one another on Valentine's, unintentionally spurned by the object of their affections, mere inches away from each other with enough firewhiskey in their systems to at least feel a little limber if not a little uninhibited.   

Peyton swallowed a lump in his throat. He barely knew Ryder, had only really known of him when he had been at Hogwarts the previous years. The only time he had ever acted on how he felt had been exactly a year ago and if it hadn't been for Razzy being so aggressive he would have spent the entirety of that night either exchanging blows with his half brother or dancing with one of his best friends pretending to be something he wasn't. Deciding to throw all his chips in on this one he swiftly closed the gap between them placed his hard, strong, calloused hand on the back of Ryder's neck and pressed his lips against his. His own were rough, a little chapped and completely inexperienced. The kiss only lasted a moment before Peyton pulled himself away, his cheeks completely crimson and not from the cold wind that was picking up.

"Uh . . . sorry."

A sense of power came along with the game of seduction, with that moment where all hung on the balance and you put yourself out there for another to take. But Ryder’s heart beat a calm rhythm against his thorax, as he allowed his eyes to become just slightly heavy, as he dragged his tongue along his chapped bottom lip. He kept his stance calm, but there was playful smirk that played a tune across his jaw as he watched Peyton debate internally. Something in the younger boy’s eyes made it clear he’d already won this battle, but Ryder would not be the one to make the first move. Instead, he waited until the sixth year stepped forwards, waited until he felt a calloused palm on his nape and felt his head pulled forwards. Rough lips pressed against his own, and Ryder was shocked by how worthless this boy was at the act of snogging.

When Peyton pulled back with a muttered apology, the blush on the boy’s cheeks was almost adorable –and Ryder hated adorability. Rolling his eyes, he tapped his tongue against his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot,” He stated simply, before stepping forwards, curving an arm around Peyton’s hips and pulling their two bodies flush together. The eighteen year old let his jaw fall, his breath tickle on the other’s chin, and his eyes focus on the other’s gaze. “Never apologize for taking what you want,” He whispered.

And then he captured the Ravenclaw’s lips again. It was rough, but in passionate sense, a violent dance that Ryder controlled as he let one hand lazily crawl upwards and drag forcefully through locks of hair. His hips rolled, his lips and tongue demanded and stole and if Peyton didn’t get the gist of how snogging was done now then he never would. Only when oxygen became a problem did Ryder break the kiss, leaning his forehead against Peyton’s as he gathered his stance for he was rather dizzy. Leaning down, he caught the boy’s bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a strong tug that might –just might- draw blood, before shoving the boy away and stepping back himself –although not without pulling the flask towards himself once again.

Ryder took a long sip, tossed the empty flask to the side and pulled out his cigarettes. He quickly lit a fag, before eyeing Peyton again. The eighteen year old was still slightly dizzy with adrenaline, which meant he certainly couldn’t be the only one. Taking a drag, he arched an eyebrow and delicately shrugged a shoulder. “Do you want me to leave, Peyton?” He asked, his voice a low hum as he took a lazy step forwards, closing the distance until their chests appeared to be trying to become one all over again. Another drag of the fag, and then his eyes were staring straight into Peyton’s. “Or do you want me to do that all over again?”

Peyton thought he had done something wrong and began mentally chiding himself when Ryder called him an idiot. He was inexperienced, had only ever kissed once before and Razzy had been in control for most of the time. He was probably lousy at it and he wouldn't be surprised if Ryder walked away. For the second time that night the older man surprised him. He felt a heat, that didn't come from Ryder, rise up in him as the distance between them was closed and he was told to never apologize for taking what he wanted. It was true in that moment Ryder was what he wanted, whether it would be true in the morning, or next week or a month from now, Peyton couldn't say. For now only this moment mattered.

He let the former Slytherin take the lead. Thankfully when it came to anything physical Peyton was a natural and learned quickly. He moved with Ryder, let his lips engage in the rough passionate war they were thrown into. His hands rested on Ryder's hips but as oxygen became low and the heat between them became high he started to grip them tight keeping them tight and hard against his own.

Peyton was dizzy and practically gasping for air when Ryder finally released him. He leaned back against the shop glad that it was only a foot or so away and he didn't completely embarrass himself by falling over. He adjusted his cloak and his jeans, self conscious of the affect Ryder had had on him. His cool grey blue eyes watched the other man intently as his emptied the flask and lit a cigarette, Peyton had never been fond of the smell but he suddenly wondered what they would taste like, or more specifically what they would taste like on Ryder. He didn't want to stop, need for air be damned, he wanted to keep going, to give into the fire that was burning through him. He hadn't been given this chance before and he was more than willing to let Ryder show him how to do more than just snog properly. He wished he had more Firewhiskey.

Suddenly there was no space between them, Peyton felt him hard against his chest again and instinctively placed his hands back on Ryder's hips, "No." He croaked out, clearing his throat, his voice a heavy husk, "Don't leave." He gave the older man a short kiss, using what he had just been taught before thinking of where they were, "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this here though."

The hands on his hips were light yet warm, like the faint tickle of the sun against one’s skin on a day in the middle of spring. It was perhaps almost too sweet for Ryder, but in his own desperate attempts to forget Balthazar and to disallow all the sexual mental images of what he might currently be doing to some Merlin-be-damned bimbo that kept passing through his mind and making him burn from the inside out with the desire for it to be him that Balthy was doing all matter of perverted things to, the blonde found he didn’t care as a low hum of appreciation echoed from the bottom of his throat. His smirk was almost lazy as he brought the fag to his lips and took a drag right after the other boy placed a chast kiss against his lips –and wasn’t it amusing, how Peyton was almost begging? At any other time it would have been a power trip for the 18 year old –but now… well, now he simply found himself as unbalanced and needy as the younger bloke seemed to be.

Not that he’d show it, of course.

Throwing the unfinished cigarette to the ground, Ryder leant forwards and pressed his lips to Peyton’s throat, using his teeth and tongue to weave a trail -that would certainly leave a faint bruise or two in the morning- all the way up to the boy’s ear. “All we’re doing is snogging,” He whispered, his own voice heavy with heat and desire despite himself, as he canted his hips against Peyton’s, one hand coming to rest against the other’s torso and the other curving around to lay just above his bum, thumb caressing the end of his spine. “Unless you had other ideas?” He couldn’t help the smirk as he kissed down Peyton’s jaw, all the way to his lips.

And then he was snogging the boy again, but through his closed eyes all he saw was Balthazar coming apart against him; the kiss was violent yet romantic at the same time, and Ryder found himself putting his entire self into it, taking and giving in a mix of sensations he would never admit to. He was a mess of tangled hair and sweaty skin when he pulled away, his chest clenching and his throat tight so that words wouldn’t come. But he knew what he wanted, and he would take it –which he made clear when he grabbed Peyton’s hand and started to walk, tugging the boy behind. “Come on,” he said, an invitation in and of its self.

Oh the ideas Peyton had. One's he had never even dreamed of before. Though it had been years since he had hit puberty the young wizard felt as though this was the first time he felt like a man. He supposed it was only fitting given the fact that he was now of age. His head was spinning with all the thoughts that had seemed to come out of nowhere though borne of the kiss Ryder had allowed him. He barely had time to put any of them into an accessible order let alone words when Ryder came to him again.

For the moment Peyton closed his eyes and let his body speak for him. His hands and lips moved in tandem with Ryder's. Though he was still inexperienced there was something to be said of the pent up passion one collects in their hormonal teenage years. While Ryder imagined that it was his best friend at the other end of this exchange Peyton would be lying if he said he wasn't thinking of someone else also. Though with the heat, passion and lust clouding his mind it was hard to determine whom that someone was though he was most certain it wasn't the actual owner of the lips he seemed to be doing battle with.

When Ryder finally broke away he wasn't the only one to be sweaty and disheveled. He took the older man's hand without question and found it a miracle that he was able to walk. He allowed Ryder to lead him and didn't even consider asking where they were going. At that point it didn't matter. There wasn't much blood left in his head to form many coherent thoughts and the bruises along his neck were already starting to turn a healthy shade of crimson.