Bondage problem. What bondage problem?
Dec. 8th, 2002 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveYes, I have tie issues.
Tie Me Up
This is the drabble. This is the image.
“I wanna love you but my hands are tied
I wanna stay here, but I’ve been denied
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun does rise”
-Starsailor ‘Tie Up My Hands’
Malfoy never smiled at Harry like this at school.
He never pouted invitingly or welcomed Harry with kisses and open arms. Perhaps if he had, things might have been different.
Instead, Malfoy sneered mockingly, and threw his insults like punches and hexes. They were designed to hurt, and Harry was designed to feel. At least Harry thinks he was made to feel. He still bleeds just like everyone else, but everything else remains in the air. Harry bruises and breaks - at he least thinks so - but equality was never Malfoy’s calling card.
Malfoy taught Harry that everyone's not the same. Malfoy has taught Harry a lot of things without even knowing he was doing so. Harry believes in payback, so he wraps the tie around his hands like a bandage and pulls hard -- hard enough to bruise before letting go, and delicately unwrapping it from around Malfoy’s neck.
Harry thought all vestiges of tenderness had left him long ago. He hasn’t been warm in months, and the first thing that strikes him when he looks down is the surplus of material at his disposal: green, gold, red and silver. Long and fat, short and thin. All variations of the school ties, and yet there are no yellow and black, no blue and white.
There are really only two houses at Hogwarts, two camps.
Either you are, or you’re not. There is no in between. Sitting on the fence is not allowed - no matter your lineage - and Harry ties Malfoy’s hands above his head, firmly attaching them to an ornate candleholder on the stone wall. Despite the creaking, the candleholder supports Malfoy’s weight, and Harry just grins. It’s less of a grin and more of a smirk.
Harry never smirks during the day, though, he has a role to play.
Heroes don’t smirk.
Harry never wanted to be anyone’s hero, and he tells Malfoy this quite clearly. He tells Malfoy a lot of things. Once upon never, Harry wanted things to be different, and he says so.
Harry says a lot of things. He finally has his chance.
Harry never had his chance before, except that Malfoy talks too much. He interrupts Harry‘s diatribe, and that’s the first thing that Harry has to rectify. His voice scratches at Harry like a dog’s paws at a wooden door, and Malfoy’s tone makes Harry’s eardrums bleed. Thin lips, dry and stretched around a red and gold scarf are a vast improvement. Harry’s been waiting for this for so long that he didn’t even know it.
Isn’t that always the way.
Harry’s never thought of himself as the dominating sort; he was obviously wrong.
Obviously, this little exercise is exactly what he needs: wrists bound in silver and green, and eyes just on this side of too big. If Malfoy only knew Harry’s thoughts, he wouldn’t be quite so complacent.
Harry has dreamt about revenge, about vengeance.
He just didn’t know he was looking for it at Malfoy’s expense.
One will obviously do as well as the other - and Harry tells Malfoy so as he nips at Malfoy’s jaw and bites his lower lip. Even when his glasses go askew, he doesn't lose track of his objective: it’s supposed to hurt. Harry wants it that way, and he doesn’t care what Malfoy wants. He doesn’t care if Malfoy’s arms grow tired, and he begins to sag against the wall. He doesn’t care if Malfoy whimpers, and the tie in is mouth begins to grow wet with saliva and drool. Harry cares about what he wants.
That’s all he cares about anymore. Things could have been different; and Harry whispers in Malfoy’s ear about Mudbloods and parents. Harry tells him that in the end there will only be him - not because it’s how Harry wants it, but because it’s how everyone else has made it. If the wizarding world wants Harry to be the last man standing, it would be horribly out of place if he were to disappoint them.
He could never have that.
Harry tells Malfoy that he is what Malfoy’s made him.
Harry is what everyone has made him. He’s not really going crazy, and apparently that’s when it strikes Malfoy that this isn’t a game. That Harry unbuttoning Malfoy’s shirt and stroking his chest isn‘t a tease. It’s not bondage gone awry. Harry’s not interested in Malfoy that way. Not anymore. He’s just looking for a Dark Mark that he knows is hidden somewhere.
He has to have proof. Harry knew all along, but he tried to believe.
When Harry wakes up, a green and silver tie is wrapped around his hands, and his fingers are turning blue. He’s not sure where the tie came from. He’s been out of school for three months; they’ve been at war for a year.
According to reports, Draco Malfoy died almost six weeks ago.
Tie Me Up
This is the drabble. This is the image.
“I wanna love you but my hands are tied
I wanna stay here, but I’ve been denied
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun does rise”
-Starsailor ‘Tie Up My Hands’
Malfoy never smiled at Harry like this at school.
He never pouted invitingly or welcomed Harry with kisses and open arms. Perhaps if he had, things might have been different.
Instead, Malfoy sneered mockingly, and threw his insults like punches and hexes. They were designed to hurt, and Harry was designed to feel. At least Harry thinks he was made to feel. He still bleeds just like everyone else, but everything else remains in the air. Harry bruises and breaks - at he least thinks so - but equality was never Malfoy’s calling card.
Malfoy taught Harry that everyone's not the same. Malfoy has taught Harry a lot of things without even knowing he was doing so. Harry believes in payback, so he wraps the tie around his hands like a bandage and pulls hard -- hard enough to bruise before letting go, and delicately unwrapping it from around Malfoy’s neck.
Harry thought all vestiges of tenderness had left him long ago. He hasn’t been warm in months, and the first thing that strikes him when he looks down is the surplus of material at his disposal: green, gold, red and silver. Long and fat, short and thin. All variations of the school ties, and yet there are no yellow and black, no blue and white.
There are really only two houses at Hogwarts, two camps.
Either you are, or you’re not. There is no in between. Sitting on the fence is not allowed - no matter your lineage - and Harry ties Malfoy’s hands above his head, firmly attaching them to an ornate candleholder on the stone wall. Despite the creaking, the candleholder supports Malfoy’s weight, and Harry just grins. It’s less of a grin and more of a smirk.
Harry never smirks during the day, though, he has a role to play.
Heroes don’t smirk.
Harry never wanted to be anyone’s hero, and he tells Malfoy this quite clearly. He tells Malfoy a lot of things. Once upon never, Harry wanted things to be different, and he says so.
Harry says a lot of things. He finally has his chance.
Harry never had his chance before, except that Malfoy talks too much. He interrupts Harry‘s diatribe, and that’s the first thing that Harry has to rectify. His voice scratches at Harry like a dog’s paws at a wooden door, and Malfoy’s tone makes Harry’s eardrums bleed. Thin lips, dry and stretched around a red and gold scarf are a vast improvement. Harry’s been waiting for this for so long that he didn’t even know it.
Isn’t that always the way.
Harry’s never thought of himself as the dominating sort; he was obviously wrong.
Obviously, this little exercise is exactly what he needs: wrists bound in silver and green, and eyes just on this side of too big. If Malfoy only knew Harry’s thoughts, he wouldn’t be quite so complacent.
Harry has dreamt about revenge, about vengeance.
He just didn’t know he was looking for it at Malfoy’s expense.
One will obviously do as well as the other - and Harry tells Malfoy so as he nips at Malfoy’s jaw and bites his lower lip. Even when his glasses go askew, he doesn't lose track of his objective: it’s supposed to hurt. Harry wants it that way, and he doesn’t care what Malfoy wants. He doesn’t care if Malfoy’s arms grow tired, and he begins to sag against the wall. He doesn’t care if Malfoy whimpers, and the tie in is mouth begins to grow wet with saliva and drool. Harry cares about what he wants.
That’s all he cares about anymore. Things could have been different; and Harry whispers in Malfoy’s ear about Mudbloods and parents. Harry tells him that in the end there will only be him - not because it’s how Harry wants it, but because it’s how everyone else has made it. If the wizarding world wants Harry to be the last man standing, it would be horribly out of place if he were to disappoint them.
He could never have that.
Harry tells Malfoy that he is what Malfoy’s made him.
Harry is what everyone has made him. He’s not really going crazy, and apparently that’s when it strikes Malfoy that this isn’t a game. That Harry unbuttoning Malfoy’s shirt and stroking his chest isn‘t a tease. It’s not bondage gone awry. Harry’s not interested in Malfoy that way. Not anymore. He’s just looking for a Dark Mark that he knows is hidden somewhere.
He has to have proof. Harry knew all along, but he tried to believe.
When Harry wakes up, a green and silver tie is wrapped around his hands, and his fingers are turning blue. He’s not sure where the tie came from. He’s been out of school for three months; they’ve been at war for a year.
According to reports, Draco Malfoy died almost six weeks ago.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Re:
Date: 2002-12-09 12:13 pm (UTC)Well then I read it, I think, and commented.
So it must have been alright.
Re:
Date: 2002-12-09 12:16 pm (UTC)Well then I read it, I think, and commented.
So it must have been alright.
I am not premature! I am right on time, on my time, damnit. I do not do the patience game. That's why I believe in having sex in public places. Waiting is for Hufflestuffs.