Anthony Hoult wanted to hex something.

In all fairness, it wasn’t all together strange for the Slytherin to be itching to pull out his wand and maim the nearest object –living or not. But today he was rather more tempted than usual, and even the leaf that had the guts to flutter through the air made him grit his teeth together and a guttural growl rub the base of his throat. The sky was rather blue for winter, and the air preternaturally warm, but in Tony’s mind it was a rather dull, grey day and thunder was roaring its way through the valleys that surrounded the castle.  A professor had asked him a question earlier, and his reaction had been to reply with some words that were apparently not allowed or respectful and he now had detention to look forward towards this evening –as if the daunting task that he was to face this afternoon weren’t enough.

The Quidditch Pitch was empty, perhaps because the ground was too hard from the cold of the previous days to risk flying above it, or maybe because of the wind that startled the surprisingly calm weather. Whatever the reason, it suited Tony quite well, as his blue gaze fell down the bleachers and towards the castle, where he could see a dark figure making its way down the grounds. The boy’s heart seemed to catch in his throat and make an annoying not that made swallowing hard, as his fingers curled around the edge of a bench and his eyes narrowed. Bran.

Tony tapped one foot nervously against the ground beneath him, his top teeth tugging at his bottom lip, as he remembered the owl he’d sent the previous night and wondered for the thousandth sodding time why he’d done it. Bran was his past, not his present, and should remain as such –except for the occasional roaming lips and hands now and again. It was all he was for the dark haired boy: a game, a pair of lips and appendages to use whenever he felt the need. It was only Tony who actually had enough idiocy within him to forget the games and think anything was real.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” His tone was tired and tight as Bran approached, and he pushed into a standing position. He stepped closer, but not enough to touch –maybe his ex boyfriend wouldn’t be in the mood today. And it wasn’t as if Tony had called him here for a snog-fest and nothing else, anyways. Although, now that he found himself staring down at those lips that he knew like the back of his hand, he felt his pulse fasten and his determination begin to waver. “I didn’t think you would.”

Whatever Bran had with Tony what seemed like ages ago was still lingering on Bran's mind from time to time. There hadn't been any love on his part, as never had there been such a feeling with Bran Blackwell in general and Anthony knew it. However, it was both flattering and a headache that Tony had and still continued to have feelings for him. It suited Bran well, whenever another warm body was unavailable to keep him company, but it was also cause for irritation as once in a blue moon, the conscience he was battling to vanish completely, decided to remind him of his existence.

He had no idea why the hell Tony had decided to call for a meeting. Especially outside, on the pitch, in winter, forcing him to endure the dampness in the air and its effect on his hair and skin. Bran flushed so easily... To say Bran wasn't exactly in the best of moods, was rather mild. However, as he approached the bench Tony was sitting on he willed his mouth to curl into a little smile. Tony himself didn't seem to be in the best of moods, and he was always rather adorable whenever he threw an angry tantrum. "Why wouldn't I come" he replied sweetly and as nonchalantly as possible the second Tony was on his feet. There were about a hundred different reasons he wouldn't have come, the first being because maybe he didn't feel like it. But he was bored and curious and had something on his mind for a few weeks now that he'd wanted to inquire about, and by inquire he meant slowly torture Anthony with.

When Anthony stepped closer - sweetly but completely unnecessarily, keeping a proper enough distance between the two of them - Bran extended his hand and pushed him back towards the bench until the meeting of the back of his knees with the edge of the bench forced him to sit down. With the same sweet smile he climbed on his lap, legs tucked under his body, on each side of Tony's body, and locked his hands at the back of his head, drawing teasing circles at the nape of his neck. He leaned closer, eyes roaming over his features for a few seconds and pressed his lips to Tony's. It was chaste, almost sweet at first, but as he drew his housemate closer in, the kiss deepened, feeling his own breath hitching.

Bran ended the kiss just as abruptly as he had started it, tucking his face in the crook of his neck. "It's cold" he said, voice muffled by Tony's hair, as means of a greeting. Bran didn't really do explanations. He loosened his embrace, enough to be able to watch Tony in the eyes and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked fondly, but not before he frowned for a second remembering he had a little issue of his own to deal with. "Also... How's that little blonde of yours" he asked with a smile meant to be curious, but really, didn't do that much of a job to hide his amusement and disapproval. "The simple one, with the country girl looks" he made to look like he was concentrating. "Alexa Something?" he half-asked, half-stated.

He was certain that, if anyone were to look too closely, they would notice the way the vein on the side of his neck was throbbing with each violent pulse of his heart; this reaction to seeing Bran was nothing new, nor something he was not accustomed to, but for some reason it bothered him today. Deep down he was aware of the biological reasons his body reacted the way it did, but all he could think of was the simple fact that he didn’t want to snog the other boy today –today was supposed to be about talking. It was yet another reason he didn’t close the distance, another reason he didn’t allow his body to press into Bran’s or his lips to crash against the other’s mouth. He was showing control and restraint, which was all together rather shocking for Tony Hoult. As a matter of fact, he actually managed to keep his lips tightened seriously, instead of smiling lopsidedly as he usually did when around his Ex, and the only reason he didn’t fold his arms over his chest or point his wand at Bran and explain that they were either going to talk or spells were going to fly was because… well, because it was Bran, and he could never hex him.

Damned bloody, sodding, stupid emotions.

The open palm that pressed against his chest was a shock met with displeasure at first –but all too quickly it was accepted, all too quickly he greeted the physical contact and lost his resolve as Bran pushed him back. He wasn’t being rejected, and he knew it –especially when the back of his knees smacked against the bench and he found himself falling into a seating position. For an instant, his resolve was back, and he even managed to lift his blue eyes to stare at Bran and begin to complain –but then the other was straddling him, and Tony’s hands were resting on his Ex’s thighs, and Bran’s fingers were pressing at the back of his scalp and damn it, talking was going to be impossible in this particular position and state of mind.

Tony’s head was leveled slightly upwards, so that his blue eyes could meet Bran’s, and for a second there was nothing but staring, a silent exploration of each other’s facial features. When their lips finally met, it was soft and gentle at first, with the innocence of romance and the ideals of some cliché, but it deepened quickly. Tony’s fingers dug into the side of Bran’s legs as his own hips jerked just slightly and his shoulders tensed. He fell into the snog, and for an instant he allowed himself to believe there’d be no need to say what he needed to say, that all was understood and all was accepted and he’d be used no more.

But then the kiss ended, just as quickly as it had began and Tony’s hips fell back against the harsh wood of the bench. A shiver ran its course down his spine as Bran pressed his face into the nook where neck met shoulder, but it was a welcome relief not to have to stare into the boy’s eyes. When the complaint about the cold came, the Slytherin found his arms curling around the other’s midsection, hugging him, pulling him close and protecting him; deep down, he wanted to push himself to hex something, because it simply just wasn’t normal to not be itching to grab his wand and make the nearest object explode. But outwardly he simply wanted to stay here forever and not say the words he’d came here to say. Bran would never agree. It had been stupid to begin with. Tony nuzzled his chin into the top of his Ex’s head, enjoying the feeling of his hair against his chin.

An instant later, Bran pulled back, and their eyes met. Tony’s breath hitched when the other boy asked about the reason for this impromptu meeting, felt the words catch in his mouth and was already deciding he’d not say it, that he couldn’t say it, when Bran was suddenly frowning and talking about Alexa. A small part of him felt he might be happy at what appeared to be jealousy, the other was simply suddenly angry as he glanced away from the man on his lap. He couldn’t lie to Bran while looking him in the eyes. “Just some bimbo to snog,” He answered, and though he tried to keep his voice nonchalant, he couldn’t help but clench his jaw and let a slightly worried and slightly annoyed tone penetrate his voice. “Considering you only come to me whenever no one else is available, I didn’t particularly see a reason to remain monogamous,” He stated, and realized he’d partially breached the subject for which he’d called this meeting. Immediately regretting it, Tony lent his face forward and pressed his jaw against Bran’s, twisting his lips to plant a quick, soft kiss on the other’s mouth. Not quite pulling away, he opened his eyes and looked straight into Bran’s. “Can we not talk about her?”

It was adorable, how Tony thought he could say no to Bran from time to time, how he tried to will his own body not to follow its natural instincts how he tried to frown instead of smile... It was admirable too given this was Anthony Hoult—the boy had absolutely no self-control. It would’ve made Bran worry, that he hadn’t been greeted with one of Tony’s sweet, dopey smiles, if only he hadn’t been so completely obvious. How he was almost scandalized at the contact of his hand with his chest, how swiftly Tony’s hands found comfort placed on his thighs, how completely malleable he became when their lips touched, how responsive his body was to Bran’s...

He knew, the second he saw Tony battling with his own body, Bran knew why he’d been called. God only knew how many times they’ve been over this, how many times Bran barely managed to steer clear from this discussion using every distraction in his own repertoire. But there were only so many times that would work... And to be perfectly honest while Bran didn’t love Tony that didn’t mean he was ever willing to let go of him. Anthony was his, even if Bran wasn’t Anthony’s. He could play with however many little blonde bimbos he wanted, but he had to come back to Bran eventually. He had to.

Bran wouldn’t admit it, but he felt comfortable folded into Tony’s arms. For just a couple of minutes, with his head tucked under Tony’s, with no words being exchanged he could forget about the schemes, the games, the plans, the damn climbing of the social ladder, Bran felt almost content. But if you took the machinations and the manipulations from Bran, you’d leave him with nothing. So it was in these moments, that Bran knew he had to hurt Tony. Just a bit, just to let him know who was in control of this—whatever this was.

Of course, whenever he did so Tony would revert to the tantrum-throwing fourteen year old he actually was... Happily, however, Bran already knew how to deal with that. And besides, it was really adorable. Of course, Bran also knew she wasn’t just some bimbo and there was something else under that whole story. Nothing to threaten Bran’s place in Tony’s heart, but still, Tony had his games as well. Bran’s lips formed a small O as Anthony let his feelings out unfiltered as usual. So, he had been right. It all came back down to this discussion.

He smiled tightly and accepted Tony’s gentle kiss. Anthony needed to learn how to subtly change subjects better... “Sure” Bran said before he had any chance to actually think it through, his expression soft and sort of fond. They had to do this at some point, it had been years and it was growing rather tiresome. With a deep breath, Bran took Tony’s face into his hands, fingers splayed over the sharp edge of his cheekbones, tangling into his hair and looked him in the eyes with a sort of seriousness and sincerity that he’d never actually before.

“Is this what this is about, Anthony?” he asked softly with a sad sort of expression. “Us?” he leaned down and pressed a small kiss on his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?” Bran actually had no idea how this discussion would pan out, but it could just be the last they’d ever have. “Do you? To yourself? To me?” A better person would feel remorse for trying to put the blame on the victim, but Bran really wasn’t that person.

“Do you want to stop Tony?” he asked, voice growing a bit louder, fingers digging a bit deeper into his scalp and cheeks. “Hmmm? That what this is about? Do you want to throw out the window years of history? There’s no one that knows you better than me—nobody” He didn’t like that he was getting angry, that he couldn’t keep his calm and play it cool and collected. He didn’t even know why he couldn’t and he was scared to even know the answer to that. He leaned closer and took Tony’s bottom lip between his own, tongue teasing at the seam of his lips, tilting his head sideways to pour everythinginto this kiss. He came back for air, breath unsteady and eyes glazed. “Do you really want to stop this?” Pressing his forehead to Tony’s, he let out a long a breath and turned to rub his cheek to his ex’s.

“What do you want me to say, Anthony?” he asked tired and gutted because this was the question. This was what made or break this entire thing. And Bran was scared that he’d actually answer it truthfully and it would bloody well ruin him.

There was gentle way to Bran’s smile, a sense of calm that Tony wanted to feel was all for him, as the edge of his forehead rubbed against the other’s eyebrows and he felt the bloke’s breath tickle against his lips. His arms around Bran’s waist, their chests against each other, Anthony couldn’t help but wonder at how perfectly they fit together –and question for the millionth time just why the other couldn’t simply understand that. But, for the first time, a second thought flitted through his mind: he wasn’t the only one who thought the same. No matter how much he might try to delude himself into believing he was special for Bran, deep down the truth was that there fifty blokes more in the school who also thought they fit perfectly with the pale sixth year, thought that they were special, thought that they’d end up being the chosen one. Bitterness invaded Tony’s gaze for an instant –but was then gone, as flitting as a shooting star in the night sky. No matter how much he detested it, he belonged to Bran and could never remain mad at him.

Even when he really wanted to.

Bran’s hands came to rest against his face, his warm fingers pressed against his jaw and tangled into the bottom locks of his hair; the sincerity in the boy’s usually cold eyes was shocking enough to shatter Tony’s doubts, to turn him into the whimpering puppy that he became when he was around his Ex and which disgusted him at any other time. He was close to humming in content, but forced himself to press his lips into silence as he let his cheekbones lean into the touch. His eyes remained open out of sheer force of will, regrettable considering the sadness in Bran’s gaze when he spoke next, making his heart skip a beat and his chest contract. Suddenly, Tony wanted this not to be happening, wanted to take all his thoughts back because he was certain that having them simply exist in his mind were hurting the other sixteen year old. Anthony sucked in his bottom lip, the skin turning pale under the force of his teeth, as he fought the instinct to shake his head and explain that this isn’t about that, I just wanted to see you. Touch you. Kiss you. Feel you.

And then they were snugging, his lip no longer between his teeth but being massaged by Bran’s tongue, and denial seemed to draw a mark in his brain. Tony let himself be taken for the ride, his thighs canting up towards the other boy, his hands roaming down Bran’s spine, nails digging in and tugging as if afraid he would lose hold and cease to exist. Anthony whined into his Ex’s mouth –and then they were parting, and Bran’s cheek was against his own and words were being spoken. The question was expected, but no longer desired. Because, what could he say? How could he beg for monogamy when he knew it would mean losing it all? And in the end, did it really matter? As long as he could have this from time to time, did he really have to own Bran eternally?

Yes.

“I don’t know,” He whispered, as he silently pulled his jaw against Bran’s, massaged the skin against his own and moved his head until it was resting against his Ex’s shoulders. Because he did know, but he wouldn’t say it. The disgusting animal he became, the creature that needed another to survive, wouldn’t allow it –and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. He couldn’t speak –and so instead he pressed his body up towards Bran, pressed the bloke down into his hips and meshed their bodies together as he violently bent around and captured the other’s mouth again. The kiss, this time, was nothing but fierce passion, anger and desired forming a cocktail that became violent. It was need, it was theft, it was a messy affair of taking what he wanted until air no longer existed in his lungs and his lips were swelling so bad it hurt. Could he do this? Could he continue like this?

No.

“It wasn’t about that,” It was shocking, how easily the lie flowed from his lips –and Bran wouldn’t believe it. Of course he wouldn’t, because he knew Tony too well. But hopefully he wouldn’t press, hopefully he wouldn’t dig his nails into Anthony’s ribcage and squeeze against his lungs until he blurted it all out. Hopefully he’d let it go like this. “I just wanted to see you,” He said, all wanton and pathetic, as his mouth trailed against Bran’s throat, as his lips sucked harsh enough to cause reactions but not enough to pull a reaction.

As Tony's head fell to rest on his shoulder, Bran's fingers came to gently run through his ex's hair, almost comforting as if to say 'good boy'. He hid a satisfied, yet slightly pained smile in Tony's hair, exhaling in relief at yet again successfully avoiding drama. The problem with the whole Anthony situation was that Bran would've actually liked to give Tony what he wanted. In some sick, twisted way, maybe he even deeply cared for him... No. Not love, certainly, but there was a form of affection there. He just couldn't bring himself to give more. In their brief actual relationship he had felt like a caged animal, just sitting there and waiting for a merciful death. If Bran were ever to tie himself like that, Tony wouldn't even be on the candidates list.

Anthony Hoult had nothing to offer him but his feelings and you couldn't achieve greatness on feelings alone.

Bran gasped as he felt the drag of Tony's hips against is own, instinctively pressing down, just as Tony's hands came to guide him down onto him. A small moan barely had time to form before it was muffled by his housemate's lips on his. The kiss was nothing and everything, he could actually feel Tony's desperation and Bran was getting drunk on it, on how much he made him feel, how much he was wanted. It was a messy affair of tongue and teeth and when Tony finally pulled off, Bran was panting heavily, relishing in the thought that maybe his lips were bruised...

As if in a drugged haze, Bran smiled sweetly with eyes half-lidded at Tony's sad little lie. He'd gotten what he wanted, but why did he feel so disappointed then? Perhaps Tony had given up too soon, perhaps Bran would've liked to see him push a little more, scream his feelings at him, tell him outright that he still loved him, that he'll always only love him. Surely, that was it and nothing more... He chuckled awkwardly at his ex's next words, if only to cover for his own confusing storm of thoughts, humming pleased at the feel of Tony's lips on his throat. "You could've at least chosen somewhere warmer, if that's all you wanted" he said teasingly, with a light chuckle.

With a little smirk, he brought his arms from around Tony's waist to grab at his belt with one hand, and splay the other on his abdomen, fingers deftly following the trail of hairs that got lost in his pants. "I suppose we can make our own heat, however" he whispered in an amused tone, just before he leaned down for another heated kiss.

As Tony's lips sucked did their best to leave a bruise along Bran's collar bone, his heart beat an unsteadily violent rhythm against his thorax. If his Ex pressed the matter, it might all be shot to bloody hell, for his resolve was flimsy enough as it was. With a grip that spoke of holding on, of fear and desperation, the Slytherin dug his nails into Bran's thighs, his shoulders leaning their weight into the other. He was nerves and panic, raw emotions that he would regret later, feelings that would make him want to hex his own bollocks off. It wasn't fair, what Bran Blackwell did to him, but his own lack of truly fighting against it left him unable to actually complain.

But then, words were spoken, laughter pressed past unoccupied lips, and Tony went swiftly from desperation to relief, as his teeth dragged against the sharp edge of Bran's jaw. He didn't bother to reply, for there was nothing to say -and in one quick instant, Tony understood that he had lost all control, and that the meeting had suddenly became whatever his Ex wanted it to be. And yet, as one hand gripped his belt buckle and the other splayed against his navel, and as a sharp gasp left the sixth year's lungs, he found he couldn't find it in himself to care. Bran kissed him, lips and tongue tangling with his own, and proved that this might be enough.

Tony's hand slid underneath his Ex's shirt, snaking up Bran's stomach and chest until they could wrap around the other's torso and lean close, feel the warmth. His hips canted forwards of their own accord, and as his lungs begun to strain with the need for air, words bubbled up his throat. He didn't think of them, he didn't ponder on what to say, and instead pulled his lips away with a breathless "I bloody love you, Bran Blackwell." For an instant, he didn't react, until what he'd said sunk in. "Oh shit," Tony gasped as he tried to pull back, but having his arms under his Ex's shirt made this complicated.

This was going to be awkward.

Tony's fingers splayed on the bare skin of his abdomen sent sparks up his spine and he laughed softly against his ex's lips, drunk on the feeling of their closeness, their hunger. And just as his hand trailed deeper into Tony's pants, and his breath was cutting short, his need of air evident, Tony pulled back and his words cut so deep into their frantic breathing and shuffling that Bran just froze.

Tony's jerkiness and his regret in his words next had Bran finally coming out of his haze and in a split second, without even realizing what he was doing, he moved his hands over Tony's arms, keeping them there, keeping him close. With a sad little smile, his hands slid upwards, coming to rest at the base of his ex's skull, fingers deftly latching to his hair. "No, it's okay" he said, leaning closer, nuzzling at his neck, peppering soft kisses over the expanse of his neck. "I know" he added softly, cheek rubbing on Tony's before he pulled back a little to give him a reassuring smile.

He knew, even more so... he enjoyed it. What was there not to enjoy about being loved and needed? As long as nothing was expected in return, of course. But by this point Bran was too needy, too hot to stop and address the situation, and reacting any other way would've ended in a very uncomfortable feeling in his trousers and he was not about to do that to himself. He was entitled to letting go sometimes, to once in a while let himself think with his... Well.

With gentle moves, Bran's hand quickly found its way into Tony's trousers as a small smirk formed on his face. He pressed a hard, short kiss to his lips and bit into Tony's lower lip, just short of drawing blood. "And? Are you gonna show me how much?" he teased with an arched eyebrow.

There was the slightly complicated matter of having his arms under Bran's and their bodies tangled into what seemed to be a bloody knot and damn it all to hell if now wasn't as good a moment as any to hex his vocal chords straight out of his throat and condemn himself to a life of solitude away from the embarassment that would be ever facing a social situation again in his life -much less actually thinkin of facing Bran Blackwell ever again in his life. Tony kept his face tilted downwards, his breathing -which should have been bloody erratic considering his current predicament- actually suddenly sodding calm. But perhaps that was simply because all life had left him and he was now nothing but a sack made of skin and filled with bones and organs -or so he wished he were. His hands splayed out against Bran's shoulder blades, somehow holding back from dragging into flesh and tearing away at the boy that had made him such a mess. He wanted to damn the day he'd ever met Bran Blackwell, but he also wanted to erase the past few minutes and just go on with their snogging, for snogging was good. Snogging was emotionless and something to keep the mind occupied and away from thoughts -away from I love you's.

Even more surprising than his lack of overacting, erratic breathing, perhaps, was Bran's reaction to the hushed secret that had just been whispered into the air: the other boy's hands slid up to rest against his biceps, staying their, holding there as if trying to keep Tony's sanity from skittering away with a whispered breath. The Slytherin found himself leaning into the grasp as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded -which made it rather unfortunate when Bran's palms moved away: slithering upwards, his Ex moved his fingers to latch at the back of his skull, forcing Tony's face to rise even though this was the last thing he wanted to do. His blue eyes fell on his Ex's face, and at first they were wary -only to become confused and even slightly hurt at Bran's words, as the boy rubbed, nuzzled, kissed and smiled at him. If his feelings had been conflicted seconds before, they had now became entirely haywire.

But emotions were fickled and mostly better forgotten, as Bran proved by sliding a hand into his trousers -which had been uncomfortably tight for the past ten minutes and now became even more so- and asking him to prove it. It was a game, and somewhere deep down tony knew that he should bloody well not be okay with it -but he had to be or he'd be broken, for when one loved they did so with their entire being whether the feelings were returned or not. It didn't matter how much he knew Bran used him, for like a drug Tony would always come back to him -he was addicted to the kisses and the touches and the random moments of interest, and if they were all he could have, then Tony knew he would make himself be content with it even if he didn't want to be. Even if he wanted more, he would take what he was given because it was something which was always better than nothing, and because saying no to Bran Blackwell was as impossible as dying from not allowing himself to breath. "yes,' he growled, pyurposely clawing into Bran's shoulder blades and dragging his nails roughly down the boy's back as his jaw hooked upwards and his lips captured the others. It was rough and raw and passion and hate and love all in one, as Tony pushed his hips up towards the other boy's grasp, his own hands reaching the end of Bran's spine and slidding through the waistband of his trousers from behind. He gripped and he grawled into Bran's mouth at the sensations, as he reminded himself that no matter how much it might feel like he was currently in control, it would always be him that belonged to Bran and not the other way around.

Maybe he could one day convince himself that was okay.