Welcome to the south of France, host location for the first TriWizard games in over 20 years. Beauxbatons is excited to show those English and Nordic brutes what hospitality really means, but that doesn't mean anyone is taking the competition lightly. Keep an eye out for site events and ways to get involved. Please register with a FIRST AND LAST NAME IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.
Mace subconsciously tilted his head back, giving Quincey a wider expanse of skin to press lips too. The boy knew him so well. Of all the places on his body, his neck was the most sensitive. He tended to push Quincey kiss his neck or nip at the skin while they were sleeping together if he felt like he wasn’t getting enough stimulation. No one else knew this about him. A one night stand or two might have caught on in the past and used it to their advantage but Mace couldn’t say that there was any real problem with that. Quincey’s kisses were light and feathery, as if he were only just grazing the skin. It wasn’t enough to truly excite him but it did sent a nice tingle through his body to the tips of his fingers and toes. He fought the haughty laugh that threatened to escape him when Quincey breathed out a few words of explanation. He was behaving just as Mace had thought he would. Perfect. The older boy stared up at Quincey, his eye blanks as per the usual but following the younger boy’s closely. He wanted to see every emotion that flashed through them.
It wasn’t until Quincey found the hem of his shirt that Mace truly closed his eyes, letting the boy work until he decided that he had reached a road block and was frustrated once more. Mace had no desire to help this process along, though he couldn’t control if his body behaved and went along with the idea or not. As if his body had heard his thoughts, he sucked in his stomach unintentionally when Quincey ghosted his fingers over bare skin. Mace bit down hard on his tongue, encouraging himself to be more contained with his actions. Surely he could control a few impulses. The boy opened his eyes when he felt the slight hint of warmth on his face. He parted his lips slightly for Quincey’s approach but found the boy pulling away before doing anything. Mace could see what he was doing. Quincey was playing his own game with him, having his own fun. Of course, the student couldn’t beat the master at his own game. Mace wasn’t going to let him get away with that. No, that meant that he wasn’t playing hard enough. But he could change that in an instant.
”No one,” Mace replied to Quincey’s question, his voice flat. Why would he want to see anyone? He was suddenly brought back to the fact that his classmates were all off celebrating Solar. While the name didn’t have the same effect on him as it had earlier, he could still admit to a bit of malice surging inside him for being skipped over in favor of her. Quincey needed to get on with this distracting thing if Mace was going to give him the opportunity. He eyed the boy coldly, rather irritated that his question had made him recall such a thing. ”I’m told the same but I have a feeling that beautiful is the only adjective the French know.” Everything here, in the foreign students’ eyes, was better than it was back home. Mace could respect having pride within one’s school but there was little support behind that remark. None of them had even seen his home away from home. They should keep their mouths shut. Once more, he let his anger over the night’s proceeding melt away and gradually found his head again so that he could focus on what Quincey was saying.
Quincey spoke the truth. It was a trait Mace had picked up from his father. Perfectionism ran in his blood. He’d prefer people read his mind than waste his time explaining mindless details. Mace brought up a hand, observing his fingers for the third time that night. Mace, a boy who usually knew what he want, was at a loss for what he truly wanted out of tonight. A drink remained on the top of his list but he had already vetoed that in favor of not being dragged into some sort of celebration. His eyes were bright and mischievous when he finally glanced up at Quincey again. He wasn’t quite done messing with him yet. ”What if I say I want you, Quince? What do you do then?” He didn’t mean in any one way or another, not sexually and not in a romantic way. Mace simply wanted to toy with his lover a little more. At the end of this, he owed the boy a nice reward.
The motion of Mace's head leaning backward was an obvious invitation to proceed. Quincey did not dare oppose the notion even for a split second. His lips found every single bit of bare skin, while his focus still remained on Mace's face. Merlin... he was handsome. Especially when he closed his eyes and simply allowed himself to enjoy whatever the younger boy had to offer him. Quincey knew that he wasn't a magnificent lover. Then again, Mace had been the only person he had ever been this intimate with. Yes, he had shared that one single kiss with Saffron in their third year but that was only because she had proclaimed she liked him and he was still uncertain of how he felt about girls. Quincey could feel his own breathing start to shatter and his heart picking up pace rapidly as he saw that much needed reaction from Mace. It was always a dirty trick to go for the neck, but Quincey used it every single time.
" And.... "pretty". They also know "pretty" ." Quincey said, not going into detail about the boy who had warned him not to fall on his "pretty face" only about half an hour prior. He knew how protective Mace was. He knew that at times, even he got uncertain about whether or not Quincey could be interested in anyone else. And by keeping silent on the matter, the younger boy was simply trying to crush all doubt. It was true that neither the French or the Northeners could appreciate Hogwarts. It was so much more.... natural. So much more cosy than the formal appearance of Beauxbatons. But of course, the two schools represented two very different cultures with their pros and cons.
Quincey only smiled and shook his head at Mace's question before he had allowed it to actually sink in, word by word. " But why would you want something you already have. I am yours for the taking you know. " Quincey said with a light shrug of his shoulders, as if his words were a mere reminder for Mace. Of course, the Slytherin already knew that, which was why he felt certain of himself enough to play games with his lover. Nevertheless, Quincey did not, for even a moment, stop the motion of his thumb against the bear skin of Mace's stomach, nibbling very lightly on his lower lip, simply to stop himself from allowing his hands too much freedom. The lip hurt, of course, but the small wound had already closed and at least it wasn't bleeding.
" But of course... if you say you wanted me... I would do what I always do: I'd give you what you want. " Quincey said as he leaned closer again, trailing kisses along Mace's jaw as he placed his free hand on the back of Mace's neck, making it easier for him to stay in place. His thumb ran along the skin of the older boy's neck and Quincey smirked. Whatever Mace wanted, Mace got and if his lover did want him at this particular moment than he was going to have him. " I'm all yours. " Quincey breathed out slowly, his lips near Mace's ear once more. Of course, he was. Yet in this particular situation, it sounded more as a permission for Mace to do with him as he please, to use him as he saw fit. Not that his permission was of any importance anyway.
”Pretty... yes, they know that too.” Mace didn’t think much of these frilly princes and princesses and he was glad to find that Quincey had the same train of though. He might be feigning his dislike for Mace’s benefit but he was appreciative of that fact. ”What kind of word is pretty? Would you want to be called pretty?” Each time he said the dreaded word, Mace wrinkled his nose, as if the syllables alone were bitter on his tongue. The older boy returned to watching Quincey, staring at his lips when he spoke. Of course Mace knew that the Hufflepuff was his. Even before they had actually started getting together, Mace had pretty much laid claim on Quincey. When he needed something done and was too lazy or too busy to do it himself, he called upon the boy to do it for him and was rarely refused. Now, Mace brought up a hand so that he could cup his palm around the boy’s chin. ”Do you belong to me?” he murmured, waiting to see how Quincey took the question. Mace treated Quincey like an object to own opposed to simply his affections. No, Mace owned a lot more than that of the boy.
When Mace realized that the boy had returned to chewing on his lip, he frowned. He brought up only his thumb and tugged his bottom lip downwards so that he could just see the whites of the boy’s teeth before releasing it. ”Stop that.” Mace had a good reason to push him to stop as he arched up--pushing his stomach against Quincey’s hand--in order to kiss him. He took only a moment to run his tongue lightly along the boy’s chewed bottom lip. As he lay back down, his eyes spoke of a warning. If Quincey continued to chew on his lip, Mace wouldn’t be kissing him anymore tonight. He had no interest in having the taste of blood in his mouth the rest of the night. Quincey seemed to find something else to distract himself as he kissed Mace’s jaw and focused on the skin of his neck. The boy was pushing him, even if he didn’t quite to know it. Quincey rarely took charge. Mace never gave him the chance. And now that he had given him an ounce of charge, Mace realized that he might want to change his mind about a decision he had made earlier. He wanted Quincey.
As claimed before, Mace was no sore loser. But he was put out with this school for quite a few reasons beyond those relating to the Triwizard Tournament champion selection. This castle wasn’t Hogwarts. Mace didn’t the ins and outs, didn’t know where the secret passages were, if there were any at all. His roommates weren’t the ones he had had back at Hogwarts. His entire house wasn’t here with him. This place wasn’t where he wanted to be. But Mace had no other choice. He was simply going to have to deal. But there was nothing saying that he couldn’t have a little stress relief. Mace glanced at Quincey with an irritated look as he pulled away. The emotion wasn’t meant for the boy but he had no one else to direct it at. The older boy waved him away so that he could sit up. ”Go lock the door,” the boy commanded, peeling off his shirt before settling into his pillow once more. The boy needed to blow off some steam and though he hadn’t been planning to sleep with the boy, he had changed his mind on the matter. He rolled onto his side, tucking his hands under his pillow and waiting for Quincey to do as he was told.
Quincey shook his head at Mace's question. No, he wouldn't want to be called "pretty", he hadn't wanted to be called thusly and he rarely even paid any attention to any compliments directed at him, unless they came from Mace. The boy did not have eyes for anyone but the dark haired Slytherin. Anyway... he doubted that the Beauxbaton had actually meant to use that word in particular. Quincey could tell that the other boy way gay, too. It took one to know one after all and Quincey could recognize other homosexuals from miles away. However, that proved nothing. "Cute" he had heard before in regards to himself, "pretty" - never. Yet he did not linger on the incident too much as he pressed his lips gently against Mace's skin once more. When he pulled away, he was smiling. " Saffron calls me "pretty" sometimes. " Quincey chuckled out at the memory that his friend truly did that. " I hate the adjective but I would never tell her. " he added with a shrug. That was just how Quincey was, Merlin forbit he hurt someone's feelings... Mace's hand on the boy's cheek, made him look up straight into the other's eyes and keep the contact until Mace would decide to let go. " I do. I belong to you. " Quincey confirmed immediately, without any doubt, his voice soft, yet firm.
Quincey allowed Mace to examine his lower lip willingly. He knew the look that followed, one of warning and dissatisfaction. " Sorry. I don't even know I'm doing it sometimes... " the blond whispered with a heavy sigh. He didn't wish to disappoint Mace or make him angry. Not tonight. He licked his lower lip once more and it was just in time, because only a moment later Mace's soft warm lips were pressed against his. Quincey's eyes felt heavy once more but he didn't close them. He knew however, that he could do nothing about the tomato colour of his cheeks. A blush was part of the package of being alone with Mace. The boy knew exactly what strings to pull and which buttons to push to elicit the exact reaction he desired for Quincey. To the younger boy, his touches and caresses were completely innocent. They did not have the intention of starting anything, apart from maybe provoking Mace to take control of the situation once more. Something, which Quincey could tell Mace wanted as well. When Mace leaned forward to kiss him, pressing himself against Quincey's hand, the latter went further up Mace's shirt, making a small chill run down Quincey's spine.
The following reaction however, Quincey did not expect. Mace was irritated and the Hufflepuff had no idea why. Had he done something wrong? Had he offended his lover in some way without even realising it? Or was this... frustration of another sort. When he heard Mace utter his demand, Quincey's whole body stiffened up for a moment, before he relaxed and moved away from Mace and eventually off the bed. For a second Quincey wondered whether it was another one of Mace's little games, but as he turned to glance over his shoulder back at Mace, he found the Slytherin looking back at him expectingly. He needed to get on with it before his rather irritated mood escalated. Despite the fact that he could trip over himself at any given time, Quincey's walk somehow managed to stay graceful. He leaned forward on the door, one hand placed near his cheek, which was now touching the cold wood, while the other twisting the tiny golden key in the lock. After he heard the clicking sound, he turned around and his eyes immediately found Mace's. Quincey could hear his own heart pounding wildly against his chest. He took a couple slow steps forward, back toward the bed and stopped just a tad bit away from it, in case Mace wanted him to do something else before he was allowed to join his lover back on the velvet sheets.
”A strange one she is,” Mace murmured, just able to form a picture of the dark-headed Saffron in his mind. He wouldn’t know of the girl if it weren’t for Quincey. She was his housemate and also in the same year as the boy. When Quincey wasn’t with him, Mace suspected, he was with her if she had the time to put up with him. Of course, she probably got a kick out of the other boy’s antics. There was no denying that the boy’s happy demeanor and pursuit of all things sweet was appreciated by the young girl, unlike Mace who tended to look down on both manners of frivolity. The Slytherin had no reason to truly look down on the girl--disregarding the fact that he consider her attitude towards to life to be rather lacking--and especially not when it came to Quincey. In fact, Mace should probably be thanking the girl for taking the oversized puppy dog that was Quincey off his hands on occasion. Mace would never personally hang around with the girl but she did a good job of drawing Quincey’s attention away from Mace when the older boy no longer had the patience to deal with the boy. ”You should tell her. It’s an embarrassment to be called pretty.” That was Mace’s roundabout way of telling the younger boy that he needed to stick up for himself.
Mace rewarded Quincey’s affirmative answer with another soft trailing of his hands. This time he let the pads of his fingers trail softly over the boy’s clothed stomach. He was quiet, silently observing the boy’s face as he let only his ring finger slip past an inch or so past the boy’s waistline. Mace brushed the digit along his waistline before withdrawing his hand and setting it on the bed next to him. He was already cupping the boy’s face with his other hand, examining the lip that Quincey seemed determined to destroy. The dark-haired boy only cocked his eyebrow at the boy as he made to apologize. It was useless for him to make apologies, really. Mace had resigned himself to the fact that no matter how many times he told Quincey off for the act, he’d continue doing it. It still made him rethink kissing the boy, however, hence the reason he continued to point it out to him. The Slytherin brushed his thumb over the boy’s lips again. ”I like your lips.” Tonight, that was the last he’d say on the matter.
It wasn’t easy to sense the hesitation in Quincey’s movement; the way he paused while still curled up next to him, the falter in his steps as he moved away from the bed, and the turn of his head as he locked eyes with Mace. The older boy stared back; his eyes squinted as if daring the boy to refuse his command. It didn’t take long before the younger boy had made up his mind and was striding towards the door in order to lock it. The Slytherin settled back against the bed, eyes tracing Quincey’s form, drifting over the backside that he had memorized. He and the younger boy had been together quite a few times in the past two years. Mace didn’t often pay attention to just how long they had been together but when it did cross his mind, it always tended to be a bit of surprise. He was fully aware of how long they had know each other, but as for this situation of lovers? They had been at this for quite a bit, hadn’t they?
Mace kept his eyes trained on the Hufflepuff as he waltzed towards the bed, stopping just before he reached the bed once more. He let a small smirk slip over his features. That was what had come out of being together so long. Quincey had learned well. ”Strip,” he murmured, before immediately changing his mind, ”No. Just the shirt.” Mace hadn’t yet decided where he wanted to take this or how fast he wanted to move. When Quincey did as he was told, Mace shifted on the bed. ”I want a head massage.” He sat forward, letting the other boy work himself into the spot behind him in order to give him what he wanted.
Note: Sorry this took so long. Home from college which means family bonding. :|
Quincey only glanced away for a second when Mace told him to make it clear to Saffron that he disliked the adjective. " Yeah... sure I will... " was his answer, spoken in a soft quiet voice. Though they both know that he wouldn't. Perhaps that was what made Quincey so easy to be pushed around - he was simply overly empathetic and even things of the sort, which concerned him directly seemed impossible to achieve. That was exactly why his parents didn't even know that Quincey indeed noticed how little time they had for him. He had never said a word about it and as much as he wanted to, he doubted that he would start now. The last owl they had sent him was when the delegation of Hogwarts students had first arrived at the Beauxbatons castle... which had been more than two weeks ago. Indeed, they did remember to send him sweets from time to time, most of which he shared with Saffron, however they never had a note or anything of the sort attached to them. After awhile, Quincey had understood that it was his parents' way of buying their way out of writing to him.
Quincey nodded in understanding when Mace spoke of his lips. That wasn't a compliment as much as it was a warning but it could not help but flatter the blond, as Mace rarely spoke anything out of the necessary and it was always the truth. His shiness about himself, Quincey felt, had taken that next step, colouring his ears in a light pink colour as well as his cheeks. Oh, how he hated when that happened. He cast Mace a couple of glances before focusing on the sheets beneath the two of them once more. He needed to put all of his will power (which granted was not much) into calming his extatic breathing down as Mace traced the hem of his trousers. The sensation of his finger against the bare skin of Quincey's stomach made him inhale sharply, squeezing his eyes for only a moment before Mace withdrew his hand and allowed the younger boy to once more catch onto his brath and his thoughts.
The time spent with Mace never seemed too long for Quincey. See, in the Hufflepuff's innocent way of thinking, he was Mace's not only for a year or two. He did feel like the Slytherin's favorite little pet, a personal belonging perhaps, which the older boy protected in his own way. And the thought pleased Quincey to no measure. Because Mace wanting to possess him, in his head was equal to Mace caring. And that, in itself, was something extremely important to the blond. He still could not understand why Mace was hesitant to voice his affections. He doubted that the Slytherin was scared. In his eyes Mace was fearless, brave, knowledgable, perfect... Mace could do no wrong. Quincey realised himself that perhaps his way of thinking was putting some sort of pressure on Mace, however, he could not help it, he loved the older boy too much to see any of his flaws.
Hearing Mace utter his command, Quincey did not hesitate and immediately pulled his shirt over his head, folding it quickly and throwing it on one of the near by chairs. He could not throw his clothes onto the floor, it was something he loathed doing. Despite the fact that Quincey was at least a head shorter than Mace and quite a bit slimmer, he was still toned enough for some girls to actually take a liking to him (which was of course, short lived once they found out about his preferrences). It was due to the fact that whenever Quincey went home for the holidays, he practiced a very interesting type of Muggle dancing, which involved quite a lot of physical energy. It was a hobie, something, which he rarely did in Hogwarts unless in a moment when he was exceptionally frustrated and the moves started to flow by themselves. Walking over slowly, Quincey sat on the bed behind Mace, placing both of his legs on either side of the older boy and pulling him back gently by the shoulders until the Slytherin was lying against his chest. He placed his fingers onto the boy's scalp, his fingers grazing the thick raven black hair as he began very slow circular motions. He did so, changing the position of his fingers every now and again until all of Mace's scalp was properly tended to. Then, he allowed his hands to slip downward to massage Mace's neck until finally reaching his shoulders. Quincey leaned forward and planted a few soft kisses on Mace's neck as he kept massaging his shoulders. " Do you feel better? " he asked innocently, not daring to stop for a single second.
Quincey lived to please. Mace had come to that conclusion quickly when they had first formed their friendship. From the very beginning, he could look into the blonde boy’s eyes and see the eagerness hidden within them. His intentions, though pure in the hindsight that he was seeking the other person’s satisfaction, also contained that bit of selfishness that was only natural to human character. There was that part of the boy that wished to be praised and rewarded. Mace, like the sadistic individual that he was, chose to tease and manipulate this side of the boy. He prayed on the side of the boy that wished to give him everything and in turn took the boy to bed and teased him like only someone with inside knowledge on a person could. It wasn’t as if Quincey had ever asked him to stop. Never had the boy said no to sex or asked Mace with full honesty to stop playing his cruel games. When the Slytherin got a little too violent, he sat there and took it, knowing that he’d be rewarded with an apology at the end. No, there was no doubt about it at all. Quincey Abbott’s entire purpose in life was to please others. Mace just happened to be the lucky one that was usually on the receiving end.
Mace’s eyes darted up to the younger boy suddenly sucked in his breath as the older boy’s fingers explored. He found himself softly smirking at the look on the boy’s face, pleased that he had caused every crease of ecstasy on his face. If his personality were any warmer, he would have felt almost guilty denying the boy any more action. But that was hardly in his character. He gladly withdrew his hand and watched with a lingering smirk as the boy’s face softened once more. When they had initially started these rendezvous late at night and in broom closets, it hadn’t been the most confident of acts on either of their parts. Mace, even now, was still deeply embedded in his homosexual closet. For once, Quincey had more experience than Mace. That didn’t mean that the boy got the lead. It simply meant that the Slytherin could look at his younger lover and have him moderately understand what he would be attempting to do next. Mace, with his pride still intact, could admit to an essence of awkwardness around the entire act the first handful of times. Now, it seemed natural to Mace as to where he should place his hands and what parts went where. It was a world he knew he had always wanted but hadn’t dared ever step into.
The curves of Quincey’s body were hardly new to Mace. The outlines of his chest and the muscles of his hips, none of it was unfamiliar to the boy. He had felt those muscles beneath his very fingertips, had skin pressed against skin. For a boy that had been denying himself what he wanted most for so many years, it was one of the greatest feelings. Some days, Quincey was all he wanted. Other days, the boy’s body was exactly what he needed. With the thought at the back of his mind, Mace settled quite easily against his lover’s bare chest. He let his eyes drift closed and focused his mind only on the fingers kneading his scalp. Mace felt himself tense as the boy’s fingers worked their way over the muscles in his neck and he found himself letting out a quiet moan. The older boy was used to keeping himself quite. It had to be done with half the things he did with Quincey were meant to be secret. He felt almost ashamed to have let his guard enough to slip so far. The boy dug his fingers into the Hufflepuff’s kneecap, a silent warning that he was not to say anything about that shameful noise.
”Much,” Mace replied in answer to Quincey’s question. He had been asking massages of the boy much longer than he had been asking sex of him. The boy, though not always the most graceful of individuals, had a way with his hands. It was a relief to have the boy on hand as Mace was little more than a ball of stress waiting to explode at any moment if it weren’t for the fact that Quincey was around to work out the kinks. The older boy let his eyes flutter open as he brought up a hand to slowly trail down the boy’s leg. There was still a barrier in the form of fabric but he was applying enough pressure to be sure that the boy could feel his fingers gliding down the leg. Mace finally shrugged the hands away and turned around, balancing on his knees in order to lock eyes with the boy. His face was blank as he draped his arms over his friend’s shoulders, locking his hands behind his head. He leaned forward and quickly claimed the boy’s lips again, this kiss much rougher than the last few as he applied more pressure and denied the two air longer than he probably should have. He had trouble catching his own breath for the first moment after he pulled away. When he did manage to slow his breathing, he looked to Quincey again with a new fire in his eyes.
Mace raised his hand and petted the boy’s hair, treating him like the faithful companion that he was. ”You’re so good to me, Quincey,” he murmured. Mace wasn’t horribly into foreplay--who had the time for such a thing--but they were on a whole different playing field tonight. For once, he had no roommates to materialize at the wrong moment. He didn’t have limited space because of a small closet. Mace had a large bed, an empty room, and a lover. His face was blank, meaning that there was no way Quincey could tell from his emotions about the war waging in his mind. But could the boy tell from the way he had frozen in front of him? While this situation sounded like the perfect opportunity, it often sounded ridiculously like a couple’s private time together. Mace couldn’t deny the way his heart clenched, nor the sudden image of his father in his head. He let his hands slip away from Quincey’s shoulders, staring at the boy, his cold look having returned to his face. The boy didn’t deserve it but who else should he direct at? Mace slipped into the spot on the bed next to Quincey, tucking his arms behind his head again ”Later,” he murmured, thinking of a distraction for the time being. ”How are you enjoying Beauxbatons? Your classes, roommates, the other students?”
It was true - Mace had Quincey all figured out. While the same could hardly be said the opposite way around. At times, Mace was just as much of a mystery to the Hufflepuff as he had been in the very beginning of their... friendship. See, Quincey could never understand why Mace would not simply admit, at least to himself and to his younger lover, that they were, like it or not, in some strange form of a relationship. No, it was always still "friendship" in his eyes, yet if Quincey acted quite so familiar with his other male friends, he could wager his head that Mace wouldn't be happy one single bit. See, Mace was the type of guy that did not make promises, which he would not keep. Perhaps that was why he would never promise Quincey anything, even if his presence was proof enough for the blond that the Slytherin did care and would stick around for as long as he could.
Quincey had never experienced the trouble of a demanding family, although his own was problematic in another sense. It was amusing, in a way Mace and Quincey's families were absolute polar opposites, when you came to think about it - Mace's parents were meddling in his business more than it was necessary and Quincey's had left him to his own devices altogether. He couldn't admit to himself the possibility of them not caring at all, because it was a grim perspective on things indeed. He was trying to understand, really he was. It was simply not that easy after being neglected for most of his life. That was the reason for Quincey to turn to his Muggle friends. He had a lot of them because they did not judge him by his skills with magic as everyone in the wizarding world, they liked him for who he was.
Quincey only smiled softly at Mace as he uttered his reassuring reply. He knew how much Mace enjoyed the motion of his hands. He could tell by the sounds of pleasure that sometimes spilt past his lips, something, which Quincey adored to hear every single time. Nothing could get the Hufflepuff more wired up and ready for any sort of intimacy with Mace as those little sounds that involuntarily escaped him. And to know that it was his touch to make Mace feel so good, well it was praise enough in itself. Yes, Quincey did enjoy the feeling of accomplishment, which came with every good word Mace spoke about him. That was also partially why Quincey would never deny Mace sex. As long as the Slytherin was pleased - he was happy with Quincey, as long as he was happy, the Hufflepuff had an actual reason to feel good about himself.
" I just want you to be able to relax a bit. " he said in response, nuzzling his head upward toward Mace's hand more. He liked being pet. And he especially liked it when Mace stroked his hair. It made him feel protected. It was a gesture he remembered from his childhood, when his grandmother was putting him to sleep. It was a gesture of affection and it was Mace's affection Quincey wanted more than anything. It was true, in the beginning, both of them had been absolutely clueless about any sort of more intimate contact but Mace had soon learned to lead and Quincey - to follow. It had been so simple and had come so natural to both of them that after awhile they stopped questioning it altogether. Of course, Quincey had his needs and desires, just as Mace, however, the younger boy could supress them quite easily. He did not feel frustrated when Mace denied him sex for one reason or another, he simply searched for another way to please his lover.
In this instance, the word "later", spoken by Mace, was a relief more than anything else, simply because Quincey himself felt too tense at the moment. He just wanted to be able to kiss Mace's lips until dawn started to creep around the corner. " I can't say I'm really enjoying it and the people are.... strange... " Quincey said thoughtfully as he watched Mace slip in the space beside him. He missed feeling the boy's warm hand on his leg, but didn't dare protest. Mace was not in the best of moods as it was. " And some of the boys are... more... eh.... direct about being queer than myself even.. I mean they are... very direct. " Quincey said, his cheeks once more flaring up with that dreadful red colour as he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them with both arms. " It's just.... not Hogwarts. " he concluded as he turned his head to smile nervously at Mace. He allowed one of his hands to reach out so that his fingertips were grazing, ever so slightly Mace's arm. " You don't like it one bit, do you. " it was more of a statement than a question as it was visible by the sheer look of Mace's face that this place was not ezactly to his liking.