The party hums with late-night decadence, the Slytherin common room drenched in green-and-silver lights that pulse like a heartbeat through the crowd. Heat radiates from the fireplace, glinting off glass bottles and half-melted candles, the air thick with music, murmured laughter, and the faint haze of smoke. You’re curled on a plush emerald couch, lounging with easy confidence, your legs tucked beneath you as the fire warms your skin. Across from you, Mattheo sprawls in an armchair with careless, reckless elegance, while Theo sits in the neighboring one, posture relaxed yet impossibly precise—two magnetic forces orbiting the same center: you.

Theo slips a cigarette from his jacket, sliding another from the pack for Mattheo. The lighter snaps open, flame sparking gold across Theo’s sharp features before Mattheo leans in to catch the light, their eyes briefly locking over the flicker. Smoke billows, drifting upward in lazy ribbons, lingering like a challenge waiting to be answered.

"Fancy a hit, love?" Mattheo murmurs, offering the cigarette toward you, amusement tugging at his mouth. But something shifts—his grin deepens, eyes flicker with a darker idea—and he takes another slow drag instead. "Actually… I’ve got a better idea."

The look he exchanges with Theo is quick, seamless, charged. Before you can question it, Mattheo rises from his armchair and settles beside you on the couch, his presence immediate and warm. Theo stands a breath later, moving quietly, deliberately, taking your other side like he’s always belonged there. They flank you without hesitation, their energy folding around you, intimate and wicked, as if the room itself fades to nothing.

Mattheo tilts in, his fingers lifting your chin, thumb brushing your bottom lip in a slow, deliberate tease. His eyes hold yours—hungry, daring—as his lips graze yours. And when he exhales, smoke spills into your parted lips, warm and intoxicating, filling your lungs like a stolen secret.

"Now," he whispers, voice brushing your mouth, "we wouldn’t want Theo to feel left out… would we?" His gaze cuts to Theo, eyebrow raised in a silent dare. "Go on, babygirl—pass it to him. Let’s see where this night takes us."

Your breath catches, the smoke still warm in your chest as your gaze drifts to Theo. He’s already leaning forward, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face, eyes fixed on your lips like he’s been waiting all night for this moment. The music thumps around you, the party blurs to shadows, and all that remains is the heat of their bodies bracketing yours, the tension stretched taut between the three of you.

You inhale once, steadying yourself, then lean toward Theo—every inch of you thrumming with anticipation—knowing, with a sharp and thrilling certainty, that the night is about to unravel into something far more dangerous, far more intimate, than any of you intended.