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rarepair_shorts2008-12-17 06:22 pm
rarepairs_mod) wrote in rarepair_shorts2008-12-17 06:22 pm
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Fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fictitious_burn
Author: loony4lupin
Recipient:fictitious_burn
Title: In Between Silences
Pairing: Draco/Blaise
Rating: R
Word Count: 900ish
Summary: Blaise leaves as the war begins, but there are some people he cannot leave behind.
Author's Notes: This story has violence and non-con implications, as requested. But it’s not squicky, due to the rating restrictions. Other requests: Draco in a position of power and implied relationship. I have a big thanks to my beta S, who is amazing.
Blaise ignored the war. His mother always said never to invest into situations with uncertain outcomes. Love and war were never a certainty. And she would know; it explained her seven husbands. So when the war descended, Blaise took his family out of England.
But some faulty investments would not be left behind.
“Blaise.”
Blaise nodded at the appearance of Draco’s pale reflection in the darkness of the window. Blaise had been waiting, naked, for sometime now. Draco was never late, but Blaise prided himself on being early. His chest felt tight but Blaise no longer expected their encounters to be as they were before; beauty and strength in the push and pull of Draco’s body inside of him. Gone were the days of schoolboys and searching kisses that reminded Blaise why he put so much stock in Draco’s skin.
The days of soldiers and shrapnel had arrived, whether Blaise had given his consent or not. When touches weren’t made in love, but in desperation. When kisses were a validation of life, not love. When Blaise gave up control to gain the only hope he had at a full future. He was foolish to have ever let himself love, but there was nothing in revelling in things Blaise could not change.
Blaise braced his hands on the sill of the window, his dark skin a stark contrast against the white paint. He wanted to turn around to see the sharp lines of Draco’s face and the flush of passion on his pale skin. He wanted too many things. The blunt denial should have been vicious and new. Instead, it fell flat, and Blaise gasped for breath.
“No,” he said in a whisper. As if asking before had done him any good. As if Blaise’s voice could make the war disappear from Draco’s fingertips. As if Blaise could ever deny contact, even like this, with someone he could not learn to unlove.
Draco did not answer, only drug the sharp knife across Blaise’s shoulders until he cried out at the white heat of his blood on the blade of war and Draco’s bruising kisses along his neck. Draco’s lips were cold as they whispered orders and Blaise said no, when all he ever meant was yes.
But he obeyed without a single protest from his lean limbs and delicate hands as Draco entered him. As if his body thirsted for the taste of war, of the blade against his skin, Draco’s power inside of him, rough and commanding. As if Blaise was all Draco had to own. The only war Draco was allowed to actually wage; the only war he could win. As if Blaise would give everything, so Draco could have nothing.
The press of Draco’s hips was intoxicating, reminding Blaise of dark corridors and deep green curtains. It made his back arch, the cut across his shoulders stinging with sweat, his hands clutching the sill. Blaise pushed back to demand, but Draco just took before Blaise could even voice anything more than the sound of his forehead hitting the window pane in time with Draco’s deep thrusts.
Draco twisted Blaise’s head around, clutching his neck and his hip with every grunt and thrust. Blaise tasted his own blood in Draco’s mouth and felt Lord Voldemort’s wrath in every prickle of pain, in every crushing thrust. His own climax was detached, the pleasure not apart of him, not the goal. But it was the hot splash of come, his own and Draco’s, that felt like hope. Hope that in the end, Potter would pull through and Blaise could go back to the world he invested in, in the Draco that he had invested in.
Blaise wanted to sag against the cool pane of the window, but he stood tall as Draco pulled out, and didn’t flinch when Draco lapped at the blood from his wound. There were lines, they were thin and fragile but they were there. Because when the war was over, Blaise had to know that he gave as much as Draco took. That this sacrifice was more than just getting by, but some sort of growth. Something more than martyrdom. Blaise was more than that.
Draco paused behind him. It was always this way; Draco shouting in the silence, but never managing to open his mouth. Never able to say sorry in body or voice. But shouting nonetheless in the silence that had settled between them, trying to explain what he could never explain. Honesty was hard for men who lived only in lies, but impossible for boys who died in lies.
Blaise kept his eyes trained on Draco’s faint reflection. He seemed more tired than the last time, his eyes more wild than their encounter a week ago. His tongue wanted to move, wanted to trace over every bruise and scratch on Draco’s skin. He wanted to say he understood, and he wanted to soothe Draco’s screams. But he did nothing, watching as the moment of pause left Draco’s posture, as life swept out of his eyes and the Draco that the Dark Lord wanted to see emerged.
Blaise shook his head. Draco retreated.
Only then did Blaise allow himself to slide to the ground. The cut stung as he relaxed against the wall, listening to Draco’s retreating footsteps and the crack of his Apparation.
Loving Draco had never been a problem. But after this was over, forgetting how to hate him would be.
loony4lupinRecipient:
fictitious_burnTitle: In Between Silences
Pairing: Draco/Blaise
Rating: R
Word Count: 900ish
Summary: Blaise leaves as the war begins, but there are some people he cannot leave behind.
Author's Notes: This story has violence and non-con implications, as requested. But it’s not squicky, due to the rating restrictions. Other requests: Draco in a position of power and implied relationship. I have a big thanks to my beta S, who is amazing.
Blaise ignored the war. His mother always said never to invest into situations with uncertain outcomes. Love and war were never a certainty. And she would know; it explained her seven husbands. So when the war descended, Blaise took his family out of England.
But some faulty investments would not be left behind.
“Blaise.”
Blaise nodded at the appearance of Draco’s pale reflection in the darkness of the window. Blaise had been waiting, naked, for sometime now. Draco was never late, but Blaise prided himself on being early. His chest felt tight but Blaise no longer expected their encounters to be as they were before; beauty and strength in the push and pull of Draco’s body inside of him. Gone were the days of schoolboys and searching kisses that reminded Blaise why he put so much stock in Draco’s skin.
The days of soldiers and shrapnel had arrived, whether Blaise had given his consent or not. When touches weren’t made in love, but in desperation. When kisses were a validation of life, not love. When Blaise gave up control to gain the only hope he had at a full future. He was foolish to have ever let himself love, but there was nothing in revelling in things Blaise could not change.
Blaise braced his hands on the sill of the window, his dark skin a stark contrast against the white paint. He wanted to turn around to see the sharp lines of Draco’s face and the flush of passion on his pale skin. He wanted too many things. The blunt denial should have been vicious and new. Instead, it fell flat, and Blaise gasped for breath.
“No,” he said in a whisper. As if asking before had done him any good. As if Blaise’s voice could make the war disappear from Draco’s fingertips. As if Blaise could ever deny contact, even like this, with someone he could not learn to unlove.
Draco did not answer, only drug the sharp knife across Blaise’s shoulders until he cried out at the white heat of his blood on the blade of war and Draco’s bruising kisses along his neck. Draco’s lips were cold as they whispered orders and Blaise said no, when all he ever meant was yes.
But he obeyed without a single protest from his lean limbs and delicate hands as Draco entered him. As if his body thirsted for the taste of war, of the blade against his skin, Draco’s power inside of him, rough and commanding. As if Blaise was all Draco had to own. The only war Draco was allowed to actually wage; the only war he could win. As if Blaise would give everything, so Draco could have nothing.
The press of Draco’s hips was intoxicating, reminding Blaise of dark corridors and deep green curtains. It made his back arch, the cut across his shoulders stinging with sweat, his hands clutching the sill. Blaise pushed back to demand, but Draco just took before Blaise could even voice anything more than the sound of his forehead hitting the window pane in time with Draco’s deep thrusts.
Draco twisted Blaise’s head around, clutching his neck and his hip with every grunt and thrust. Blaise tasted his own blood in Draco’s mouth and felt Lord Voldemort’s wrath in every prickle of pain, in every crushing thrust. His own climax was detached, the pleasure not apart of him, not the goal. But it was the hot splash of come, his own and Draco’s, that felt like hope. Hope that in the end, Potter would pull through and Blaise could go back to the world he invested in, in the Draco that he had invested in.
Blaise wanted to sag against the cool pane of the window, but he stood tall as Draco pulled out, and didn’t flinch when Draco lapped at the blood from his wound. There were lines, they were thin and fragile but they were there. Because when the war was over, Blaise had to know that he gave as much as Draco took. That this sacrifice was more than just getting by, but some sort of growth. Something more than martyrdom. Blaise was more than that.
Draco paused behind him. It was always this way; Draco shouting in the silence, but never managing to open his mouth. Never able to say sorry in body or voice. But shouting nonetheless in the silence that had settled between them, trying to explain what he could never explain. Honesty was hard for men who lived only in lies, but impossible for boys who died in lies.
Blaise kept his eyes trained on Draco’s faint reflection. He seemed more tired than the last time, his eyes more wild than their encounter a week ago. His tongue wanted to move, wanted to trace over every bruise and scratch on Draco’s skin. He wanted to say he understood, and he wanted to soothe Draco’s screams. But he did nothing, watching as the moment of pause left Draco’s posture, as life swept out of his eyes and the Draco that the Dark Lord wanted to see emerged.
Blaise shook his head. Draco retreated.
Only then did Blaise allow himself to slide to the ground. The cut stung as he relaxed against the wall, listening to Draco’s retreating footsteps and the crack of his Apparation.
Loving Draco had never been a problem. But after this was over, forgetting how to hate him would be.
no subject
My favorite part. :)
This is so very dark and lovely, great work!
no subject
Thanks for the read!
no subject
As if Blaise would give everything, so Draco could have nothing.
When kisses were a validation of life, not love. When Blaise gave up control to gain the only hope he had at a full future. He was foolish to have ever let himself love, but there was nothing in revelling in things Blaise could not change.
He wanted too many things.
As if Blaise could ever deny contact, even like this, with someone he could not learn to unlove.
It is all really beautiful, really. I went through so many thoughts while reading this. It makes me wonder if you did a little research into my preferences and into what I like writing. I even felt like there was a little of how I may sometimes feel towards someone I care about stuck in there and I think that - along with your repetitively praised writing in this review alone - made this so exhilarating for me to read as well as satisfying.
no subject
I've never written this pairing before and I was really worried that it wasn't going to be something you liked. So I just went for abstract! Lol.
I'm so glad you liked it. Thank you so much for the detailed comment. Those lines were a pleasure to write for you.
no subject
I really loved that part. :D You took something that would normally squick a lot of people and made it really poetic - you wrote something three-dimensional. Well done!
no subject
Thank you for your awesome comment.
no subject
no subject
Thanks so much.
no subject
no subject