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“Alright, alright! I’ve got a new idea. Let’s do seven minutes in heaven!”
Of all the terrible ideas Weasley had come up with that evening, this one had to be the worst, as far as Ominis was concerned. The party itself had already been pushing his limits for a while now. The air was warm and stale, a few people had already fallen asleep on the couch, breathing heavily through the ruse of alcohol.
He’d already suffered through an excruciating round of Never Have I Ever, during which it had become painfully obvious that Ominis had, in fact, never done very much at all. Each statement had been met with groans, cheers, or scandalised laughter, followed by the tell-tale sound of people drinking. Sebastian was sitting too far away in the loose circle for Ominis to make out exactly when he joined in, but judging by how often the bottle was being tipped and refilled near him, Ominis suspected it had been most of the time.
“Merlin, yes!” the others squealed, the sudden spike in volume making Ominis wince slightly.
Merlin, no, Ominis thought. Of all the clichéd teenage party games, seven minutes in heaven had to be the cringiest. Surely it was also the dullest? Everyone else was expected to loiter around for seven minutes at a time, making increasingly forced small talk while two people snogged in a cupboard.
“Okay! We’ll spin the bottle, and I’ve got a suggestion to make it more exciting,” Garreth continued. “The first person the bottle lands on goes into the cupboard alone. Then we spin again, and the next person follows them in. That way, the first person won’t know who’s coming in!”
Ominis did not think it was a good suggestion at all. In fact, it was a spectacularly bad one. Unfortunately, he seemed to be the only person who felt that way, because the room erupted into cheers, a few people thumping the floor or the furniture in approval. He took a sip of his butterbeer and tried to hide just how uncomfortable he was feeling.
He was only here for Sebastian’s sake — Sebastian had practically dragged him along — and now Sebastian would probably end up making out with one of the Slytherin fifth-years, or maybe that Ravenclaw student Ominis knew had her eye on his best friend.
He crossed his legs and did his best not to show how tense he was when Imelda announced that she was spinning the bottle. Something so small and fast-moving was completely pointless for him to try and follow with his wand, so instead he listened to the others’ oohs and aahs, waiting for it to become clear who had been chosen. If Sebastian had been sitting next to him, he would have leaned over and murmured it in Ominis’ ear, low and conspiratorial, just for him. Instead, Sebastian was stuck on the opposite side of the circle, an unfortunate arrangement that was entirely Ominis’ own fault. He’d lingered on the edge of the room for too long before joining in, listening, weighing whether he could endure another party game, and by the time he’d sat down, the only free spot had been the one furthest away.
“Okay, okay!” laughed a bright voice. Ominis thought it was Nerida Roberts. She stood up and disappeared with a giggle.
“And Nerida’s partner is…”
Imelda spun the bottle again — and groaned a few seconds later. Garreth burst out laughing.
“Have fun!” he teased, and Ominis didn’t need to see to know that Imelda was flipping him off.
“Shove a cauldron up your arse, Weasley,” she said fondly as she got to her feet. The sound of the cleaning cupboard door closing echoed through the room, followed by a second of silence.
“Well then,” said Grace Pinch-Smedley. “What are the rest of us supposed to do for seven minutes?”
The others seemed just as at a loss. This is exactly what I mean, Ominis thought, not without a flicker of triumph.
When Grace and Imelda finally emerged, Garreth wolf-whistled and called out, “So—clothes still on?”
“Piss off,” Imelda replied flatly as she sat back down. “We just talked Quidditch tactics.”
A few people booed. “Boring!” Garreth shouted. “You’re meant to snog!”
Imelda simply spun the bottle again. The game went on.
Hobhouse went in next, followed by Amit, and Ominis could practically feel how uncomfortable they were. He imagined seven slow, painfully awkward minutes spent standing too far apart, counting down the seconds in their heads.
Garreth went in with a Gryffindor girl whose name Ominis didn’t know, and judging by the catcalls and cheering when they returned, they’d actually lived up to the game’s expectations.
Nellie went in with Arthur Plummly, and since they were already a couple, everyone booed again, groaning about predictability and wasted turns.
Samantha Dale went in with Leander Prewett, and whatever happened in there was loud, and not in a good way. When they came out, Samantha was so angry she stormed off the party, with Nellie hurrying after her. It dampened the mood, and Ominis hoped it meant the others would finally give up on this ridiculous game.
Unfortunately, they didn’t.
“I’m spinning,” Imelda announced, and Ominis heard the familiar clink of the wine bottle as it struck the stone floor. It began to spin, the sound circling the room in a way that made his stomach tighten. The rattle softened, slowed, then stopped altogether.
Silence.
It took him a few seconds to realise no one was reacting, until Imelda cleared her throat and said, “It’s pointing at you, Ominis.”
He jolted. Adrenaline flooded his system. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, felt the heat rise to his cheeks. For some idiotic reason, he’d genuinely believed he might be spared. He’d sat there the whole time, technically part of the loose semicircle, but some part of him had assumed, hoped, that the bottle would simply keep passing him by.
“…Right,” he managed. He tugged nervously at his collar, trying to get a bit of air as the room suddenly felt stifling. He stood, acutely aware of every gaze following him, and pulled out his wand. Carefully he stepped out of the circle, almost stepping on Hobhouse’s hand as he tried to find footing in the throng of bodies.
The walk to the cleaning cupboard felt longer than it should have. He was acutely conscious of every sound: chairs shifting, someone whispering his name under their breath, a quiet snort of laughter that might have been sympathetic or might not. He opened the cupboard door and slipped inside, pulling it shut behind him.
He could barely stand upright, and even then the shelf pressed into one shoulder while the wall dug into the other. The space smelled faintly of dust and cleaning supplies, old wood and something sharp and citrusy. He shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn’t feel quite so boxed in, but there was no real room for compromise.
He let out a slow breath and tried to think logically. Whoever ended up in here with him would probably be just as awkward about it. If it was a girl, they’d spend seven painfully polite minutes making stilted conversation. About the weather, or classes, or Potions homework. They’d both count down the seconds in their heads and leave mildly embarrassed but unharmed.
If it was a boy, maybe—
No. There was only one boy Ominis was interested in, and there was no point in even hoping.
Time dragged. Long enough that the initial rush of adrenaline ebbed and left behind something closer to unease. He began to wonder if the others had lost interest altogether, or if whoever the bottle had landed on second had refused and they were arguing about it. The cupboard remained quiet, sealed off from the muffled sounds of the party beyond.
He’d just decided that the others had forgotten about him and moved onto a new game, laughing while Ominis stood here like an idiot in the cramped space. Then he heard it: the door opening, someone stepping inside. The movement was too brief to identify them by their footsteps. The door closed. Ominis pressed himself back against the wall, but it was so tight he could still feel the other person’s breath against his face.
“So,” said a familiar voice, “are we snogging, then, or what do you reckon?”
Ominis very nearly choked.
“Sebastian?!”
Sebastian shrugged, so close that Ominis could feel it. “In the flesh.”
Ominis felt a flicker of relief. At least with Sebastian, he could pass the time talking. Complain about how boring the party was, or how obvious it was that Grace and Everett had something going on.
“That took a while,” Ominis joked. “Did the others think it’d be boring if you came in here?”
Sebastian hesitated before replying. “…I just needed to work up the nerve.”
Ominis snorted, feeling almost a bit giddy with relief over not having to force small talk with some random girl. “Work up the nerve? It’s only seven minutes. We’ve spent longer than that debating the quality of Professor Sharp’s moustache wax. Shall we revisit that? I’ve thought of some new arguments.”
He expected Sebastian to laugh, to immediately launch into their absurd discussion about their Potions professor’s facial hair, but his best friend sounded unexpectedly serious when he said,
“Don’t waste the time, Ominis.”
The smile on Ominis’ lips faltered. Sebastian’s tone was different. Lower. More intimate. As though he was thinking about something Ominis wasn’t.
“What do you mean?” Ominis asked, unsure. The already warm air felt suddenly insufficient in the tight space; he could feel Sebastian’s body heat radiate like a heat radiator. A drop of sweat beaded under his suddenly too-tight shirt collar.
He wondered how much time they had left. Five minutes? Or were they counting from when Ominis went into the cupboard, or had the clock only started once Sebastian joined him? It struck him that he didn’t know if the cupboard was lit or not. Could Sebastian see his face?
“You do know what the point of this game is, don’t you, Ominis?”
His heart slammed hard enough that it seemed to echo inside his skull, drowning out every other sound. He recognised that voice instantly. Sebastian used it sparingly, deliberately, when he wanted something. When he let his tone dip low and smooth, stretched his words just enough to make them linger. It was the voice that made girls giggle, professors lose their train of thought, even the portraits lean in as though they didn’t want to miss a word.
He tried to laugh again, a little too bright. He hoped the cupboard was dark, so Sebastian wouldn’t be able to see how scarlet his ears had gone.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “What, you think we should… go for it?” He tried to sound joking, as though the idea were ridiculous.
Sebastian didn’t laugh.
“I asked you before,” he said. “Snog, or not?”
Time seemed to stop entirely. The rushing in Ominis’ ears cut off so abruptly it felt like a vacuum seal popping inside his head, leaving behind a strange, weightless stillness.
He licked his lips.
“Okay.”
He barely had time to get the word out before Sebastian’s mouth crashed into his — slightly off-target, catching his chin first — and Ominis realised hazily that it must indeed be dark in here. For once, they were on equal footing when it came to sight.
Then he stopped thinking altogether.
Sebastian’s mouth was warm, and soft, and so much better than Ominis had ever imagined. And he had imagined it. Often.
Sebastian made a frustrated sound and pulled back, and Ominis had just enough time to wonder if he’d done something wrong before Sebastian grabbed his hips, pressed him back against the wall, slid a knee between Ominis’ legs, and found his mouth again. Ominis’ hands came up to rest on Sebastian’s hips instinctively, and Sebastian seemed to like that, making a pleased, eager sound in his throat as he pressed impossibly closer.
So this is why they call it seven minutes in heaven, Ominis thought dazedly, when Sebastian abandoned his lips to press rough, insistent kisses along Ominis’ neck. This really was heaven. He tipped his head back, giving Sebastian better access, and his hands found Sebastian’s shoulders — pulling him closer, holding him there, pushing him away when it all started to feel almost too much, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was how good it felt: Sebastian’s lips against his skin, Sebastian’s scent filling his nose, Sebastian’s voice low in his ear, Sebastian’s hands firm on his hips. Their mouths seemed fitted for each other, and the round of Never have I ever in which Ominis’ bottle had remained untouched suddenly didn’t matter anymore. This was what he’d been waiting for: the silence replaced by the insistent, wet noises of kissing, Sebastian’s hands creeping lower and lower until they were unashamedly squeezing his arse —
The door flew open, making Ominis jolt back and nearly slam the back of his head against the wall. He registered the change in light and realised, a second too late, that while he was blind, not everyone else was.
“You do realise time ran out ages ago, right?” Imelda said, as Ominis fumbled to fasten the top buttons of his shirt, which Sebastian had somehow managed to undo.
Sebastian sounded a little out of breath but utterly unconcerned as he replied,
“I wasn’t all that interested in the game to begin with. And who knows, I might have used a Time-Turner to give myself a bit more time?”
“Time-Turners don’t exist,” Ominis and Imelda said at the same time. Sebastian still sounded infuriatingly relaxed when he added, “Who knows? Ministry secret.” Garreth made a snorting sound from behind Imelda.
“Just admit you were about to go to town in a cupboard smaller than a kitchen cabinet.”
He … wasn’t exactly wrong.
“And besides,” Imelda pointed out, “it clearly wouldn’t have worked, because I’ve noticed, and timed, that you’ve been in there for nearly fifteen minutes.”
Ominis was momentarily stunned. Had it really been that long?
“Sorry, Reyes. You’ll get a chance to snog your broom as well,” Sebastian promised. He didn’t seem remotely bothered by the fact that half the party was standing there staring at them: Sebastian still pressing Ominis against the wall, and Ominis having managed to fasten the top button of his shirt wrong.
“Whatever. You were in there so long we got bored of the game anyway. We’re switching to truth or dare now,” Imelda said.
“Then I dare you to shut the door and clear off,” Sebastian replied silkily. Anticipation sparked in Ominis, even as he tried to hide it; was Sebastian suggesting he didn’t want them to leave just yet?
“Hope the early mornings are worth it, Sallow,” Imelda sniggered, and then she shut the door again. The dense silence returned, now heavy with everything left unsaid between them. It lingered for a few seconds. Ominis wondered if they were going to kiss again — he was more than willing — but he didn’t dare make the first move.
“So,” he said instead, trying to ignore the fact that Sebastian’s knee was still wedged between his legs, “what did she mean by that?”
“Oh.” Sebastian somehow managed to sound both sheepish and nonchalant at once, an impressive feat given how little space there was between them. “The bottle didn’t actually land on me. It landed on Isaac Cooper. I had to, er, do a bit of bargaining to get him to let me go in instead. That’s why it took a while.”
Ominis frowned. “Bargaining?”
“Mm. Well. I’ve technically booked the Quidditch pitch for the late morning slot at weekends to practise, but I let him have it and I’ll take the early slot instead. And, er, I’m doing his History of Magic homework for him.”
Sebastian hated early mornings with a passion that bordered on theatrical, and he despised History of Magic even more. He complained about both often, loudly, and at length. The fact that he’d willingly given up lie-ins and a free afternoon, just for the chance to end up in this cupboard with Ominis, made something warm and startled bloom in his chest.
“Was all that really necessary?” Ominis asked.
Sebastian sounded faintly irritated as he replied, “Cooper was… difficult to convince. He was very keen when the bottle landed on him.”
Ominis blinked in surprise. That was news to him.
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Maybe you should go out and ask if he wants to take his turn now. I can wait in here—”
It worked just as perfectly as he’d hoped.
Sebastian’s knee jerked where it was still trapped between Ominis’ legs, his hands finding Ominis’ hips again and pressing him back against the wall.
“Not a chance,” Sebastian growled, his hands sliding lower. “I sacrificed a lot to get this moment.” He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to Ominis’ earlobe. “I intend to enjoy my reward in full.”
Ominis shivered, partly at Sebastian’s lips finding his neck again, and partly at the words themselves. It really shouldn’t have been sexy to feel claimed like that, but coming from Sebastian, it absolutely was.
The kisses were more intense now, more deliberate, as if they’d had a taste of each other and taken stock and knew better what they wanted. Ominis hadn’t known that overstimulation could feel so good, but right now it felt like every one of his senses was filled with Sebastian — and it still wasn’t enough.
“We managed quite a lot in seven minutes,” Ominis murmured as Sebastian started working on his shirt buttons again. “Even if we did run over a bit.”
“Imagine what we could’ve accomplished in, say, twenty minutes,” Sebastian agreed. Then he hesitated for a second, his fingers going still. After that: “Though it would be rather nice to keep doing this without… a specific time limit.”
Ominis’ heart leapt. Did Sebastian mean…?
“You mean,” he asked, his voice a little breathless, a little too high-pitched in the confined space, “that we should do this again?”
“Absolutely. Preferably exclusively,” Sebastian added, pulling Ominis into a simple embrace that was both tender and unmistakably possessive. “I don’t share.”
Ominis couldn’t help grinning.
“So Cooper doesn’t even get a taste?” he teased.
Sebastian’s grip tightened, drawing in a sharp breath. “Least of all him.”
And then he stole another kiss.
Seven minutes in heaven wasn’t so bad, Ominis decided, if it turned out to be the beginning of something far more lasting back on earth.