Chapter Text
Sebastian still remembers the first time they did it. Right before their second year in Hogwarts, when their friendship was fresh and unmarred with scars. Hell, he hardly wants to remember anything before it.
It began with Ominis' hand covering Sebastian's mouth, soft, calming hushes in his ear and fingers, gliding lower over the fabric of his pyjamas.
"This will help you forget it," he heard as confusion took away the memory of his parents on the cellar floor.
A month later, Sebastian returned the favour when Ominis woke up from his own lucid nightmare. It was only fair, though Sebastian wasn't much of a spokesman for justice even back then.
Ominis’ head slumped against his shoulder once it was done, the first instance of many. When his breath evened and slowed into tiny little snores, only then did Sebastian sneak back over to his own bed, mind scattered into a myriad of questions that never received an answer.
Again, not even a fortnight past since they did it last, Ominis reappeared under his canopy. This time, Sebastian guided his hand himself, silent in his request.
By the time the third year rolled in, the habit had already escalated. Sometimes, Sebastian had the nerve to feign his whimpers to call Ominis in. No doubt, on an odd occasion, Ominis did the same. Neither could discuss it, letting their hands speak for themselves.
There was no room for other patterns than the same shameless slip behind the curtain and the same near-clinical procedure of it all. No kisses, no embraces – only the contact between a palm and the centre of the pleasure, until the screams and tears subsided; terror forced into rapture. After, a timid, shaky scuff back to their own beds. If their roommates ever noticed how they muffled their nightly horrors, they didn’t comment on it.
As they grew into their first set of robes over the summer before their fourth year, Sebastian didn't fight the awkwardness of it anymore. He was at peace with it. Ominis knew exactly what made Sebastian forget a bad dream, and Sebastian knew how to distract Ominis from his. It was a symbiosis of the highest sort, the best kind of scratch for an itch. They were happy, whatever that meant. Content. Even Anne's condition would momentarily melt into the background whenever Ominis snuck into Sebastian’s bed. On it went. On and on. Like the ticking of a clock – precise, punctual and consistent.
Then, everything they had, all that comfort and safety they had cultivated, withered overnight.
Ominis rejected it after the incident in Salazar’s scriptorium. His blood curdling screams pierced their dorm room nearly weekly from then on, in unison with the creaks and whistles of the castle. Coping with the intrusion of nightmares alone was painful but Sebastian was no stranger to loss. He got over it, eventually, up to a point. So did Ominis.
Rarely, but still often enough to feel guilty about it, Sebastian thinks that if they continued their arrangement, perhaps Solomon would still be alive.
When they are nigh on leaping into their N.E.W.T.s, Sebastian finally has enough.
Ominis' whines echo loud and strangled that night. Their roommate's exasperated groan joins it, and Sebastian can no longer take it. It's exam season. He’s tired. They're all tired. He’s put up with this for nearly two years. This and the distance.
The cold hits the sole of his feet in bursts with each pat on the stone slabs. He sneaks into Ominis' bed quietly, fluttering the curtain as little as possible.
Right away, it's different. Sebastian reaches a hand over Ominis' shoulder. Settling behind him under the duvet, he hides his frozen toes into Ominis' body heat. Ominis stirs but the nightmare refuses to let go, keeps its talons in him longer still.
Despite every possible warning Sebastian gives himself, he changes up their long lost routine even further: he lets his hand explore.
It moves over Ominis' hips and under the cotton of his sleep shirt. His fingers dig in the flesh of his stomach, hungry and possessive and with a I missed you, can you tell? Further up, Ominis' pectorals curve differently now, fuller than nearly two years ago, giving in to the grab with softness. Ominis' body, Sebastian discovers, has changed a lot. He takes in the newly developed details, lets himself admire them fully. From his limbs stretching on further to the dusting of fine hairs that were never there before, Ominis is a man now. They both are.
Ominis is already hard in his bottoms; conditioned by Sebastian himself. He wraps his fingers around him cautiously, as if what he is doing were wrong. With a loosened grasp, he gives him a slow, experimental pump.
The body against his chest stills, all rigid.
"Sebastian?"
He presses his palm to Ominis’ mouth. "Shhh, this will help you forget it."
And then it's unlike anything they've ever done.
Ominis turns, just so he's on his back – that's not unusual.
He sighs, and the hand resting next to Sebastian's hip grabs his thigh – that's never happened before.
Sebastian bites back a comment. Ominis needs this, needs him, now. They've both grown, adapted to being apart. But everyone is allowed a weakness. This can be one of them. He can’t blame Ominis for this, when he himself indulges in every squeeze of his fingers.
Besides, one thing has remained the same: Sebastian's skill at manoeuvring Ominis into pleasure has not dulled. Ominis still likes a tightness on the intrusion into the funnel of his fist, still has an overly-sensitive tip and twitches when it's touched. His nose still scrunches when Sebastian speeds up. His dimples still deepen as he clenches his teeth together. Even Sebastian's own steadily peaking arousal isn’t atypical. But the relief has never been mutual. Shouldn’t be.
Yet Ominis' hand, palming at the muscle of Sebastian's thigh, treads dangerously close to the unknown.
Sebastian tries to catch every change in Ominis’ expression through the dark. Ominis must've noticed it, because he tilts his head to face him. To give him a better look? Does he know Sebastian has an addiction? Does his wand show him Sebastian's forlorn gaze on him in the classrooms, in the school halls? Because even when Sebastian props up onto his elbow and hovers over him, he doesn't turn away. He lets him watch.
"You're going to make me come." Ominis’ mouth splits into a round void as he gasps it out.
Sebastian groans at this new set of words. They're entirely too intimate for the two of them. They never talked through it before.
"I've got you."
Ominis' pinkie brushes against Sebastian through the fabric of his pyjamas. Sebastian nudges closer, and the rest of Ominis’ long fingers, his palm, his whole bloody hand joins in.
They're stroking one another. At the same time. It's an act so revolutionary it deserves its own holiday. Sebastian will scratch a mark for this in his almanack.
Ominis hasn't forgotten Sebastian's shape and preferences either. His fingers glide over his whole length with a practised ease, for the thousandth time. He unravels him apart so skillfully Sebastian nearly slaps himself for not rekindling this habit sooner. He really did miss him. With the sort of missing that splits one in half, into versions of before and after loss.
Their lips linger close enough that Sebastian has to but nod to form a connection. He doesn't, though, just swallows every breath Ominis lets out. They're one set of lungs now.
"I've got you too," Ominis whispers through an unstable grin.
Ominis is not the only one about to come, and that feels so taboo Sebastian's heart slaps at the innards of his ribcage with a clear intent of breaking out. They’re friends. Less than friends now. Classmates. Roommates. They were a family once. Once. Why allow this now, when their last full conversation was more than a fortnight away? Is this forgiveness? Surrender? One night of respite between maintaining the same chasmic breadth as always?
It grows sweltering under the duvet, even in the never-easing chill of their dorm. Dampness spreads across Sebastian’s back as he keeps going. He doesn’t dare to stop, not when Ominis is so taut and tense. Is he on the verge of begging already? Sebastian nearly is. He bucks his hips into Ominis’ hand. Faster, harder. He’s not too far from where Ominis’ release stands.
“Slow down,” Ominis strains. “Ah… I want to wait for you.”
What the fuck.
“You needn't wait any longer,” Sebastian groans.
Ominis shivers from his words and manoeuvres his hand to the edge of Sebastian's pyjamas.
His skin is so much cooler at a naked touch, the hold of his fist firm and powerful, enveloping Sebastian so well. So fucking well.
A whimper escapes Ominis. “I can't. Sebastian–”
“I'm there. I'm–” The first surge of orgasm rips Sebastian insides to shreds. The familiar touch, the speed, Ominis’ sounds, his smell, him – it all forces him to climax.
He tries to keep up the speed of his hand but he barely needs to for Ominis to follow his lead. Now they're even coming together. Together. For the first time ever despite years and years of turning nightmare-induced sweat and whimpers jnto traces of bliss instead.
Each ebb of the pressure in Sebastian's abdomen peaks higher and higher the more he feels Ominis coming alongside him. As he spills in his hand; as Sebastian aims it all onto himself, just to know what that's like, to be covered in him; as he rides the last, endless ripples while listening to Ominis choking on his own sounds, he drowns. He drowns in the hopelessness of it all.
The undulation of their chests matches up, from fast, harsh breaths to something soft, something gentle. Their heartbeats, coming down to a near-normal pulse, flow through the surface of their skin and mix. They're united, there's no other word for it. There were lines crossed here today, lines and vast gaps, now stitched together.
Ominis’ nose rests into Sebastian's damp cheek. The act is more affectionate than what they just did. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“Likewise,” Sebastian murmurs. He presses his sweaty forehead to his, letting their fringes tangle together into one bird's nest.
The hand in Sebastian's pyjamas gives him an explorative squeeze. “You're all wet in here.”
“Whose fault do you think that is?”
“Mine,” Ominis says. Mine. If only that word covered Sebastian under its umbrella. It could, if he spoke up. If he really wanted to. Does he?
“I don't have my wand,” he sighs. He still carefully strokes Ominis. He can't stop. Not yet.
And to his relief, Ominis follows his example. He, too, doesn't stop. Exhaustion coats his voice, and yet, his hand doesn't give up. “Mhmm, next to you. On the nightstand.”
The tip of Ominis’ wand peeks from behind the canopy drapings. They’ve done this before, swapping them when necessary, sometimes when it wasn’t. If the wand chooses the wizard, then theirs have chosen each other more often than is numerable. Doesn’t that mean something if this doesn’t?
Sebastian withdraws a hair’s width, to ask a question. “Do you mind if I–”
Ominis’ face comes into view. In the dark, his features are muddled into a simple blur of shadows and soft rim lights but they're still beautiful and still drive anybody who looks at him mad.
“No,” he says, biting his lip. “You may use it.”
The fluids on Sebastian's stomach and hips seep through the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. He should charm it all away but he can't bring himself to roll over and pick up Ominis’ wand, to fix another bridge of intimacy they once shared. Staying like this, with Ominis forever at his reach, a part of him resting on his skin like a permanent tattoo, seems far more appealing than anything that has ever tempted him. He can’t believe his thoughts.
“Sebastian?”
“Sorry.” He lets go of him reluctantly. But Ominis, the cheeky git, he doesn't, even when Sebastian sits up. He keeps his hand beneath the band of his pyjamas, touching and groping. Sebastian can't complain but neither can he reach the nightstand. “I, um, I need to–”
“I know.” Ominis doesn't budge, only keeps kneading. “Why did you come here tonight?”
Out of all situations, Ominis wants to have this conversation now?
“You woke everyone up.” A truth.
“Do I often do that?”
“No. Not often.” A lie. But it doesn't have to be from now on, after what they just did. “Anymore, at least.”
“I'm sorry.”
The urge to kiss his forehead overwhelms Sebastian. It would be too much for this precarious moment. Not everything deserves to be revealed, Sebastian's heart least of all things. Ominis doesn't need such cumbersome knowledge. Neither does Sebastian. He’s not ready himself.
“You can't help it. I do it, too, don't I?” he says.
“Sometimes,” Ominis confesses, the reply oddly quick.
Sebastian does allow himself a brush of his hair with his clean hand. “Would you help me next time? If I asked you to?”
Ominis sighs. From the touch? At the question? Sebastian can't tell. He continues his movements inside Sebastian’s pyjama bottoms, never letting him deflate. “Ask me, then.”
Hesitation makes Sebastian reconsider. “Will you help me?”
“Ask me again.”
Is he toying with him? Is it amusing to have him pinned down like this, every limb nailed to the ground that once was level under their soles?
Merlin be damned, Sebastian would play along.
“Help me,” he croaks out.
A chuckle leaves Ominis. He slips his fingers lower, in the cleft between Sebastian's thighs. Those fingers. What would they do if Sebastian allowed himself to want it?
“I'll cross that bridge when I get there,” Ominis says, and pulls out his hand, leaving Sebastian more broken than he ever was before.
