He hadn’t been looking for an opening. Truly, he hadn’t. But if ever there was one, Macnair had just about flung the door open between them for him to walk through without any repercussions. Basil felt frustration fueling the fire in his gut as grey hues flickered over that familiar, perfectly smooth Slytherin face. He could have snapped back, teeth gnashing and forced Macnair to let him go. He could have grabbed a hold of his wand and sent the other flying. He could have done a lot of things. But in the end, Basil didn’t.

In the end, he did the one thing he knew Macnair would expect the least.

Ducking his head, eyes flickering closed, Basil pressed a bruising kiss to the Slytherin’s lips. He didn’t linger like he so desperately wanted to. (The mere shock of kissing Macnair was enough already to nearly force his wits from him.) No, Basil was strategic as he took every fraction of a second he had allotted before the other heaved him off and shot some kind of curse at his head. Tongue swiping over the Slytherin’s bottom lip, he pulled it between his teeth and bit down, hard.

Then, sucking on the injury just enough so that Macnair would realize there were no truly hard feelings between them, Basil smirked and pulled back. He gave a soft hum and tilted his head. “Hm, not all it’s cracked up to be I’m afraid.”

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