hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-07-28 12:27 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-07-28 12:27 pm
HP - Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
Harry Potter
Blaise/Draco
*vague spoilers for HBP*
Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
Blaise exhales softly through his nose, eyes firmly fixed on the starry night he managed to magic onto the ceiling three months ago. He got tired of the cold nights spent in the Astronomy tower, freezing his arse off, and decided to put his lessons to a practical application. He's been known to charge for the privilege of using his sky, but some people don't pay in Galleons.
According to his bedmates -- which are not as numerous as reported, but nothing lacking either -- it's the most novel concept he could come up with. Blaise just rolls his eyes.
One would think they didn't teach anything at Hogwarts besides how to ostracise and sneer. One wouldn't necessarily be wrong, but Blaise doesn't believe in over-thinking the matter, and he sighs when Draco rolls over onto his arm.
Draco is the most appalling bedmate ever, and Blaise is this close to sending him back to his own bed. Of course, Blaise is always this close to doing something to Draco, but he never carries through with his threats. He suspects his family is making him soft.
Another body always tends to overheat the bed linens anyway, and Blaise is very particular about not being too warm or too cold when he goes to sleep.
Draco's hair fans out softly against the flat of Blaise's hand, cool and pale against Blaise's damp skin. He's at arm-length, because this is as close as Blaise tends to let him get after sex. It's enough to exchange sweat and spit and other bodily fluids; Blaise draws the line at cuddling. Draco's not touchy –- thank Merlin -– but he's become rather more unpredictable since his father was sent away, and Blaise doesn't need Draco's theatrics now. He already has enough bruises and bite marks for this go around; he's not certain he could handle a clinging Malfoy as well. Plus post-coital lassitude is thrumming in his veins, and if Draco ruins that, Blaise will be very displeased.
He sighs louder when Draco's fingers sweep over the inside of his forearm. Draco's moving about, again; he never stops. Blaise just wants to go to sleep. Whomever said boys didn't like to talk after sex, obviously had never shagged Draco.
"Whatever it is, the answer is no," Blaise says preemptively.
"No need to be so dramatic; I've not even said anything," Draco snipes.
"Yes, but you were going to."
"I see the thanks I get for sucking your cock."
"I didn’t notice you considering it a hardship at the time."
Draco is all surliness and tossing in the bedclothes; Blaise doesn't need that. He stills Draco's hand where it's drawing aggressive patterns on his skin. "It's my skin, it doesn't rub off," he says pointedly.
Draco scowls, because that's what he does. "Why can't I be tan, like you?"
"Because I'm not tan, you idiot," Blaise snaps back. They go through this all the fucking time. When they were small, Draco thought Blaise had a special spell that made him dark year round. Blaise has had to put up with this sort of stupidity most of his life.
"No, need to be so stroppy." Blaise can hear the petulance in Draco's tone; he can also feel the mattress shifting as Draco moves closer.
Draco's breath is hot on the side of Blaise's face, but Blaise keeps his eyes focussed on the sky above him. "I wouldn’t need to be stroppy if you used the brain in your head," he says matter-of-factly.
"I was just saying," Draco begins, pausing as though expecting Blaise to finish his sentence for him. Blaise does a lot for Draco, but he's not interested in cleaning up his messes for the rest of his life.
"You were just saying what?" he prompts tiredly.
"I fancy -– I -– never fucking mind."
Blaise groans and yanks his arm out from underneath the weight of Draco's enormous head. "Great Salazar's Balls, Draco."
Blaise knows Draco as well as he knows himself, perhaps even better, since Draco doesn't possess Blaise's powers of repression. He knows when Draco's going to make a foolish declaration. He doesn't have to look at Draco to know he's sullen and hurt, and he doesn't have to hear it said to know how Draco feels.
He would rather not hear it at all, truth be told.
"I just –- fuck off, Zabini."
"Yes, because I've never heard that one before."
Draco exhales loudly, and Blaise rolls over, tugging his pillow under his head and willing Draco to go away. Slytherins are not over-emotional, they're just passionate -- except for Draco, who's in a category all by himself. "Shut up, Draco. I know what you're trying to say. You don’t have to say it."
Blaise can feel Draco still his movements behind him. He's noisy, and restless, and the mattress dips as he shifts and fidgets. "And?" Draco says eventually, his tone somewhere between afraid and curious.
"And you should shut up and go to sleep now."
"That's it?"
"Yes, Draco, that's it."
There's a long pause, and Blaise can just see Draco getting riled up and starting a row, but the rustling of the bed linens stops eventually and then it's quiet. Blaise knows there are lots of things that haven't been said, but if they're not said, then they can't be misunderstood, or abused, or twisted into something violent and cruel.
He prays that eventually, Draco will understand that.
-end-
I have no Blaise icons! And the baby![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hackthis wept.
I am having writing issues. What's that site again that gives you a word and 30 seconds to improv on it? Also, anyone who has any of the following songs to sent to me, will be very much loved:
Carey Brothers 'Canada'
Anything by Earlimart
New Order 'Krafty' (adrasteia?)
Kanye West 'Diamonds from Sierra Leone'
The Eagles 'Victim of Love' (Entourage! Eeee!)
Blaise/Draco
*vague spoilers for HBP*
Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
Blaise exhales softly through his nose, eyes firmly fixed on the starry night he managed to magic onto the ceiling three months ago. He got tired of the cold nights spent in the Astronomy tower, freezing his arse off, and decided to put his lessons to a practical application. He's been known to charge for the privilege of using his sky, but some people don't pay in Galleons.
According to his bedmates -- which are not as numerous as reported, but nothing lacking either -- it's the most novel concept he could come up with. Blaise just rolls his eyes.
One would think they didn't teach anything at Hogwarts besides how to ostracise and sneer. One wouldn't necessarily be wrong, but Blaise doesn't believe in over-thinking the matter, and he sighs when Draco rolls over onto his arm.
Draco is the most appalling bedmate ever, and Blaise is this close to sending him back to his own bed. Of course, Blaise is always this close to doing something to Draco, but he never carries through with his threats. He suspects his family is making him soft.
Another body always tends to overheat the bed linens anyway, and Blaise is very particular about not being too warm or too cold when he goes to sleep.
Draco's hair fans out softly against the flat of Blaise's hand, cool and pale against Blaise's damp skin. He's at arm-length, because this is as close as Blaise tends to let him get after sex. It's enough to exchange sweat and spit and other bodily fluids; Blaise draws the line at cuddling. Draco's not touchy –- thank Merlin -– but he's become rather more unpredictable since his father was sent away, and Blaise doesn't need Draco's theatrics now. He already has enough bruises and bite marks for this go around; he's not certain he could handle a clinging Malfoy as well. Plus post-coital lassitude is thrumming in his veins, and if Draco ruins that, Blaise will be very displeased.
He sighs louder when Draco's fingers sweep over the inside of his forearm. Draco's moving about, again; he never stops. Blaise just wants to go to sleep. Whomever said boys didn't like to talk after sex, obviously had never shagged Draco.
"Whatever it is, the answer is no," Blaise says preemptively.
"No need to be so dramatic; I've not even said anything," Draco snipes.
"Yes, but you were going to."
"I see the thanks I get for sucking your cock."
"I didn’t notice you considering it a hardship at the time."
Draco is all surliness and tossing in the bedclothes; Blaise doesn't need that. He stills Draco's hand where it's drawing aggressive patterns on his skin. "It's my skin, it doesn't rub off," he says pointedly.
Draco scowls, because that's what he does. "Why can't I be tan, like you?"
"Because I'm not tan, you idiot," Blaise snaps back. They go through this all the fucking time. When they were small, Draco thought Blaise had a special spell that made him dark year round. Blaise has had to put up with this sort of stupidity most of his life.
"No, need to be so stroppy." Blaise can hear the petulance in Draco's tone; he can also feel the mattress shifting as Draco moves closer.
Draco's breath is hot on the side of Blaise's face, but Blaise keeps his eyes focussed on the sky above him. "I wouldn’t need to be stroppy if you used the brain in your head," he says matter-of-factly.
"I was just saying," Draco begins, pausing as though expecting Blaise to finish his sentence for him. Blaise does a lot for Draco, but he's not interested in cleaning up his messes for the rest of his life.
"You were just saying what?" he prompts tiredly.
"I fancy -– I -– never fucking mind."
Blaise groans and yanks his arm out from underneath the weight of Draco's enormous head. "Great Salazar's Balls, Draco."
Blaise knows Draco as well as he knows himself, perhaps even better, since Draco doesn't possess Blaise's powers of repression. He knows when Draco's going to make a foolish declaration. He doesn't have to look at Draco to know he's sullen and hurt, and he doesn't have to hear it said to know how Draco feels.
He would rather not hear it at all, truth be told.
"I just –- fuck off, Zabini."
"Yes, because I've never heard that one before."
Draco exhales loudly, and Blaise rolls over, tugging his pillow under his head and willing Draco to go away. Slytherins are not over-emotional, they're just passionate -- except for Draco, who's in a category all by himself. "Shut up, Draco. I know what you're trying to say. You don’t have to say it."
Blaise can feel Draco still his movements behind him. He's noisy, and restless, and the mattress dips as he shifts and fidgets. "And?" Draco says eventually, his tone somewhere between afraid and curious.
"And you should shut up and go to sleep now."
"That's it?"
"Yes, Draco, that's it."
There's a long pause, and Blaise can just see Draco getting riled up and starting a row, but the rustling of the bed linens stops eventually and then it's quiet. Blaise knows there are lots of things that haven't been said, but if they're not said, then they can't be misunderstood, or abused, or twisted into something violent and cruel.
He prays that eventually, Draco will understand that.
-end-
I have no Blaise icons! And the baby
hackthis wept.I am having writing issues. What's that site again that gives you a word and 30 seconds to improv on it? Also, anyone who has any of the following songs to sent to me, will be very much loved:
Carey Brothers 'Canada'
Anything by Earlimart
adrasteia?)Kanye West 'Diamonds from Sierra Leone'
The Eagles 'Victim of Love' (Entourage! Eeee!)
Re: It's Rex Manning Day!