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hackthis_archive) wrote2005-05-25 12:21 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-05-25 12:21 pm
Trade cookie - Doing Your Part
Written spur of the moment for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
circe_tigana. Trade-verse. Based on the e-mail which the lady in question sent me regarding this brilliant bit of pop political programming. Un-betad.
TRADE
Doing Your Part
Draco never understood Blaise's fascination with the telly. It was all well and good for watching football, of course, but to just sit down for hours and watch Big Brother or Emmerdale or The Bill or What Not to Wear -- well, they tended to watch that one together, if only for the appalling state of today's woman. Nevertheless, all that vapid, imported American programming on Sky didn't turn Draco's crank – Oz and Sex and the City not withstanding.
Blaise, however, would watch anything: Trisha Goddard, Question Time, bad soft-core on Five. He was like an enormous sponge for bad television. Most programming had a soporific effect on Draco though, except for Coronation Street, so he could hardly be blamed for falling asleep in front of the television, with his head in Blaise's lap.
Not that Draco's head started off there originally; they were hardly that demonstrative. The pillows were too hard for some reason, and Draco's face kept sticking to the leather sofa, but Blaise's jean-clad leg felt just right.
Obviously it helped that Blaise's fingers were carding through Draco's hair and rubbing his scalp. All that was missing was the heated oil for a massage, and so, Draco had been powerless to resist the lull of sleep. He'd nodded off to strange dreams of Damon Albarn as the Mayor of London and Liam Gallagher storming Whitehall in protest. He'd then woken up just as Sophie Ellis-Bextor was giving a speech outside the Joseph's in Knightsbridge.
It took him several moments to get his bearings, because Blaise's fingers were no longer in his hair and Blaise's leg wasn't underneath his head.
As if that weren't enough, Thom Yorke's nasally public school voice was the first thing to greet his ears, and Draco rolled right off the sofa.
The floor hurt. And apparently, it needed to be cleaned.
Draco protested quite vehemently when Blaise didn't materialize by his side immediately to see what the commotion was, but all Draco got for his efforts was a hissed 'shhhhh.' He glowered at the back of Blaise's touselled head, which was blocking the vast majority of Draco's television set.
"What're you watching?" Draco asked, attempting to sound put-out but only managing an enormous yawn. Pushing himself up, he craned his neck to see around Blaise's torso.
"Nothing you'd fancy," Blaise said dismissively. His tone was flat and bland, and he didn't even turn his head to look at Draco's spectacular sprawl. Instantly, Draco was suspicious.
Thom Yorke was droning on and on in the back of Draco's subconscious as he debated getting up and walking the three steps to where Blaise sat or crawling over on his hands and knees.
The crawling won out as Draco couldn't be arsed to stand, and he sat back on his haunches behind Blaise, using Blaise's tee shirt to pull him back against his chest. "What is your endless fascination with the telly?" he drawled lazily in Blaise's right ear.
He wasn't attempting to seduce Blaise. He didn't have to attempt -– Blaise was his. Full stop. Except that Thom Yorke was still talking, and Blaise wasn't leaning into Draco's mouth, which was brushing against the shell of Blaise's ear.
And then Draco's eyes drifted upwards. "Why is that fucking tosser on the television?" His tone aimed for bored and wound up between offended and aggrieved.
"He's talking about the environment," Blaise said distractedly. "And I'm trying to listen in, but someone won't shut his gob."
"No one cares what he has to say about the environment!" Draco protested. "He's a fucking rock star! It's like giving a toss about Chris Martin and his Fair Trade lark –- it's just listening to a bunch of self-important wankers have a wank."
Blaise's eyes glittered in the light from the television, and his teeth seemed eerily blue as he finally looked over at Draco. "And you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Draco scowled. "Don’t insult the man who fucks you."
Blaise's disapproving look spoke volumes. "Some people want save the planet."
Draco rolled his eyes so hard, his head hurt. "Don't give me any of that Tree Hugger bollocks, Blaise Zabini. You drive a fucking BMW. You're only pretending for that wonky-eyed pasty bastard. You wouldn't give a toss about the environment if it meant you had to drive a different car."
Blaise pursed his lips under Draco's authoritative tone, but snickered when Draco poked him in the ribs. "I'm trying to do my part to help," Blaise said, attempting to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Draco snickered. "You want to help the environment? Turn off that insipid twat and come back to the sofa so I can give you a blow job."
Blaise had the gall to actually look contemplative for a moment. "Well, we all have to do our parts," he said thoughtfully.
"Of course," Draco said condescendingly. "Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy never did his part."
-end-
For your listening pleasure, I present one of my favourite Radiohead songs ever: The Trickster
Okay, I have to go write some Star Wars RPS for my girl now.
circe_tigana. Trade-verse. Based on the e-mail which the lady in question sent me regarding this brilliant bit of pop political programming. Un-betad.Doing Your Part
Draco never understood Blaise's fascination with the telly. It was all well and good for watching football, of course, but to just sit down for hours and watch Big Brother or Emmerdale or The Bill or What Not to Wear -- well, they tended to watch that one together, if only for the appalling state of today's woman. Nevertheless, all that vapid, imported American programming on Sky didn't turn Draco's crank – Oz and Sex and the City not withstanding.
Blaise, however, would watch anything: Trisha Goddard, Question Time, bad soft-core on Five. He was like an enormous sponge for bad television. Most programming had a soporific effect on Draco though, except for Coronation Street, so he could hardly be blamed for falling asleep in front of the television, with his head in Blaise's lap.
Not that Draco's head started off there originally; they were hardly that demonstrative. The pillows were too hard for some reason, and Draco's face kept sticking to the leather sofa, but Blaise's jean-clad leg felt just right.
Obviously it helped that Blaise's fingers were carding through Draco's hair and rubbing his scalp. All that was missing was the heated oil for a massage, and so, Draco had been powerless to resist the lull of sleep. He'd nodded off to strange dreams of Damon Albarn as the Mayor of London and Liam Gallagher storming Whitehall in protest. He'd then woken up just as Sophie Ellis-Bextor was giving a speech outside the Joseph's in Knightsbridge.
It took him several moments to get his bearings, because Blaise's fingers were no longer in his hair and Blaise's leg wasn't underneath his head.
As if that weren't enough, Thom Yorke's nasally public school voice was the first thing to greet his ears, and Draco rolled right off the sofa.
The floor hurt. And apparently, it needed to be cleaned.
Draco protested quite vehemently when Blaise didn't materialize by his side immediately to see what the commotion was, but all Draco got for his efforts was a hissed 'shhhhh.' He glowered at the back of Blaise's touselled head, which was blocking the vast majority of Draco's television set.
"What're you watching?" Draco asked, attempting to sound put-out but only managing an enormous yawn. Pushing himself up, he craned his neck to see around Blaise's torso.
"Nothing you'd fancy," Blaise said dismissively. His tone was flat and bland, and he didn't even turn his head to look at Draco's spectacular sprawl. Instantly, Draco was suspicious.
Thom Yorke was droning on and on in the back of Draco's subconscious as he debated getting up and walking the three steps to where Blaise sat or crawling over on his hands and knees.
The crawling won out as Draco couldn't be arsed to stand, and he sat back on his haunches behind Blaise, using Blaise's tee shirt to pull him back against his chest. "What is your endless fascination with the telly?" he drawled lazily in Blaise's right ear.
He wasn't attempting to seduce Blaise. He didn't have to attempt -– Blaise was his. Full stop. Except that Thom Yorke was still talking, and Blaise wasn't leaning into Draco's mouth, which was brushing against the shell of Blaise's ear.
And then Draco's eyes drifted upwards. "Why is that fucking tosser on the television?" His tone aimed for bored and wound up between offended and aggrieved.
"He's talking about the environment," Blaise said distractedly. "And I'm trying to listen in, but someone won't shut his gob."
"No one cares what he has to say about the environment!" Draco protested. "He's a fucking rock star! It's like giving a toss about Chris Martin and his Fair Trade lark –- it's just listening to a bunch of self-important wankers have a wank."
Blaise's eyes glittered in the light from the television, and his teeth seemed eerily blue as he finally looked over at Draco. "And you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Draco scowled. "Don’t insult the man who fucks you."
Blaise's disapproving look spoke volumes. "Some people want save the planet."
Draco rolled his eyes so hard, his head hurt. "Don't give me any of that Tree Hugger bollocks, Blaise Zabini. You drive a fucking BMW. You're only pretending for that wonky-eyed pasty bastard. You wouldn't give a toss about the environment if it meant you had to drive a different car."
Blaise pursed his lips under Draco's authoritative tone, but snickered when Draco poked him in the ribs. "I'm trying to do my part to help," Blaise said, attempting to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Draco snickered. "You want to help the environment? Turn off that insipid twat and come back to the sofa so I can give you a blow job."
Blaise had the gall to actually look contemplative for a moment. "Well, we all have to do our parts," he said thoughtfully.
"Of course," Draco said condescendingly. "Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy never did his part."
-end-
For your listening pleasure, I present one of my favourite Radiohead songs ever: The Trickster
Okay, I have to go write some Star Wars RPS for my girl now.
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