Disclaimer: HP is not mine, otherwise I would not need my student loan.
Author notes: This is an extremely dark deathfic and I want to make sure that no one under 14 at least reads it. Please heed this. This is a very unsettling depiction of death, and also has an underlying slash theme. I don't want any flames from people who have been upset by this. I just want someone to tell me what they thought. This is my first major darkfic. It is intended to make you feel so uncomfortable that you wish it would end and yet don't want it to –does anyone get what I'm saying?
No rise: Just fall.
The strangest fic yet to be written by skinnyrita.
We stared vaguely at each other in the dark, mistrustful. "Potter?" I heard him call my name, but I didn't answer. "Look Potter, I know it's you, I can see the reflection of your glasses." He's so haughty, how does he do that? I wonder –oof! We lay like that for a while, all tangled up in the blackness all around us, like a knotted bit of old rope, all bumpy and useless without a purpose. I sensed a movement above me as threads of white-blond hair stroked unconsciously across my right cheek. I suppressed a shudder. "Tell me to get off you if it bothers you." I didn't answer. I felt some part of him caress the side of my neck, unwittingly, clumsily and inappropriately. "Damn it, Potter, would you say something!" Hysteria?
I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me. I was speaking blindly to the pulsating form under my own body without response. We lay entwined and I began to wish he was Parkinson, starved as I was right then for entertainment. I tried pretending he was her, and on some strange whim began extending my tongue as far as it would go into the pitch darkness all around me, feeling with a different mix of senses. It was so black in there that it was one of those disconcerting experiences where you are so disorientated that for all you know you could be upside down, or blinded, or in a massive arena, or in a cage, against the wall rather than the floor, and never realising…I could see a faint glimmer nearby and had taken it to be some kind of reflection on his glasses. I think it probably was. A reflection of nothing. Unexpectedly, my questing tongue hit something slightly stubbly, I think it was Potter's cheek. I gave it a long lick. "What the fucking hell Malfoy?" I felt his whole body jerk away from mine.
What the hell had just happened? I flinched back on instinct, but was quickly horrified to find his hand on my neck. I swallowed, confused, thrown –I hate feeling like that. His fingers travelled over my jawline, up to my ear, over my eyebrows. They were freezing and paralysed me utterly. All I could do was lie there uncomfortably, tangled and twisted, while he traced over my features carefully. Eventually he found my mouth. On instinct, I bit the tip of his cold finger. He hissed in the back of throat. "We're going to die in here, Potter," he said, stroking down to my throat and moving in for the kill.
Fastening my lips over his, it was like I was having an out of body experience. I felt myself kissing him slowly, unhurriedly, opening his mouth under mine, but I couldn't see him at all. All my senses were dead save touch, scent and taste. I focused on taste and couldn't make out where I ended and he began in the darkness. The pulse in his neck thudded against my fingers. In my mind's eye I saw his eyes but could not pull an image of his face into my subconscious. I felt him struggle and realised we needed to breathe again, and that I was restricting him. I wanted my kiss to kill him. I wanted us to die. I released him. He gasped and the breath rushed past my ear. "Malfoy, don't do this," he said.
"Don't think, Potter. It's too dark. Feel instead." How could I just feel when I was this confused? I heard the resignation behind his voice and knew that he had already accepted his fate. But I'm a Gryffindor. I don't want to die here. I wanted to escape but my body wouldn't let me; all my limbs were heavy and leaden, and his hair seemed to be touching almost every part of my face now. Although I couldn't see it, I felt it, oh God I felt like I was in a tiny cage. But I still made no attempt to escape it. My glasses were lifted off my face and cast away somewhere. They were pointless, I could see nothing, not even my own nose, not even his eyes. There was nothing apart from the feel of his mouth on mine again, his mouth pressing me down further into what might be the floor, and what felt like the weight of his whole body covering mine. I stopped thinking obediently, and concentrated on the acrid smell of blood and overwhelming taste of it mingled with new saliva and desperation. Slow desperation. We kissed pointlessly, languidly, living in the feel of it; everything else was dying about me. This was the only thing left to exist.
I felt the body beneath mine relax into acceptance, and groped for his glasses, flinging them somewhere to the right. They had been bothering me before, not letting me close enough to the face I could not see. I knew roughly where his mouth would be and made for it. This time we were almost suffocated before I relinquished my attack on his tongue. I felt the lightheadedness whirl upwards into my brain, making me more grateful than ever for the dirty air around us to suck into my lungs, the only life source besides that mouth that I had left. I swayed slightly, feeling faint from the oxygen rush, and rested my forehead on some part of his face to steady myself, kissing the skin I found there. I think it was his temple, there was a tickly, errant tufty bit of hair brushing my nose. I tried to imagine what I must look like, marks all over my genetically perfect skin just beginning to clot up and scar over. I tried to imagine what he looked like, but could find no imperfections as grievous as mine: I could not visualise either of us. My brain had given up trying to summon imagination a long time ago. "Touch me." I knew I would comply.
As I felt those freezing fingers leave my neck and try to feel their way over my collar to the buttons, undoing them slowly, trying hard not to miss one, I thought: I will die here. His touch brushed my stomach. I found his neck, the hair was curled with sweat and probably a little crusted blood. He gasped, but I think it was from the cold of my hand and the suddenness of the touch. I worked my hands into his shirt, trying to feel every part of the flat, alien chest, completely different in texture and contour than a girl's, and used my other hand to find his neck again. I grabbed his hair into my fist, trying to feel what was there that I couldn't see. "Potter, please," he surprised me completely. Appalled me with the finality. I guided the back of his neck down, until I felt his mouth in the right place again, and drew his lips into my own.
The air was thinning just as we had been promised it would. I wanted to touch Potter everywhere, and even more than that I wished we were dead already and didn't have to do this. I ran my fingertips over the planes of his torso, digging my fingers hard into the groove underneath his ribcage. I felt like we were maybe already dead, and in hell, but I did not stop kissing him. A hand on my back crushed me forcefully into him, and I wanted him to feel pain. Pain was something real, something tangible. I bit his lip as hard as I could and it split instantly. He moaned and kissed me deeper, with an even greater intensity, and I knew that we were still alive.
I felt myself dying. He had bitten me and I was grateful for the pain, but it would not be enough to keep us there. My chest was tightening. The kiss was killing us. It was so perfect. I felt wet, hot, salty tears course down my cheeks, back into my hairline. I did not know if they were mine. I think they were his. The pressure on my lungs was dominant now, coupled with his weight on my ribcage. I saw red spots behind my eyes and realised I had shut them. My hands were shaking compulsively, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
I felt myself dying. His grip on my back was crushing our ribcages together, my airway was blocked by our tongues. My legs started to shake and I knew this kiss was killing us. It was the most intense thing. Better than what I had imagined drowning to feel like. He felt so completely different to a girl. I we could hurt each other and we would. Just as the thought was forming, red light was exploding beneath my eyelids.
But I did not break the kiss.
I did not break the kiss.
Even though my whole body apart from my mouth was beginning to go limp and I knew if I carried on there was no spell ever to fix this.
I felt our bodies go limp but I did not break the kiss. I felt his mouth under mine stop moving and I knew he had died. My palms were sweating with the natural exertion to stay alive, but they were so cold. I forced myself to give in. Life left me.
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