Chapter 11: Come Undone
By Vahn and only Vahn God Damn It
Notes: By far saddest chapter of 'em all, don't be to mad with me? sorry the beginning is weird. THIS IS NOT THE END! No flames, please REVIEW!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Their hands all over him, all around him. Burying him and concealing all which I was supposed to see. He didn't tell them it was his plan I'm sure. I don't care.
Cut them all down. Make their pain sing for me. A broken wrist.
Why am I crying? They shouldn't know. A cracked kneecap
Why do I want so much to rip them limb from limb? A fractured rib.
Love (Or is it rage?) breaks the bedposts and I drag Harry in to my room. Tossing him on the bed in a anything but a sexual manner. Slamming the door shut with a definite crash, trying so hard to stop myself from slapping him across the face.
"What the fuck were you doing?" I know the answer, I ask anyway.
"What'd look like Draco?" Trying to spite me, you sit back. I don't say anything, running my fingers through my hair, trying not to be angry. Trying not to be the hypocrite I've been turned in to. "Oh come on, this is something you're good at."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up..." I whisper over and over. Shaking my head.
"I was such an idiot, you're just fucking like him! God I would've thought I learned my lesson. Well how does it feel Malfoy, tell me, how does it feel!"
Silence falls like a heavy handed palm.
The blood beneath the skin rushes to the spot, outlining the place I struck him. He falls back on to the bed, looking absolutely terrified. Cowering.
I slapped him across the face. I've actually hit Harry?
"Just like him!" He shies away, afraid I'll hit him again I suppose. Those eyes so filled with anger and fear. So familiar. And that hand print glowing on his face, it seems I've become my father's son after all. My hand makes it's way up to the side of my face. Past it. Searching for the tiny bald spot on my head where a splinter of bone had jutted out. Where that chair had struck, nearly killing me. Harry's crying too now, hugging his legs to his chest, pressing himself against the headboard. Rocking back and forth in slow steady motions. I turn to him, watch his try and stifle his sobs and let him stare back at me.
And we sit like this for hours. Just watching each other cry, and thinking about all the things we'd said and done. Harry forgets to be self conscious, not bothering to cover the constellations of scars. Letting my eyes wash over him. No ugly reminders, just scars. Dozens of exquisite lacerations that sculpted the boy I love. And that's the truth isn't it? And I, this child of disaster and disdain, sired by shrapnel and shame. With my barbed wire bangles and murdered childhood. Just more excuses, and fate written circumstances. Just more reasons I sit here right now. Just more reasons...
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c..." I whisper as I collect him in my arms. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. And with it comes a cascade of memories, of the steely gray skies outside my window at home. That day you fell down the stairs and smacked your head on statue and I kissed you until you said you felt better That day on the train when you turned down my friendship. The first time I heard you laugh. All these things come buzzing forth from beneath you skin and touch. All blurring and bending, shifting and sifting about until they become one memory. Vague and familiar all the same. Something you can't remember or say, caught on the edge of you tongue. I think I just found what I'd been looking for. I kiss him again.
He doesn't speak, but everything that can be said, is said. Through slight of hand and meshing skin, brief glances and stolen touches. He devours me. And with every thought, every long repressed caress, is another button of my shirt undone. And my hands, traveling across the expanse of his back, memorizing ever detail, feathery and wind like. I just want to remember him like this. His lips leave mine, making their way to my collar bone his fingers swirling about my chest, drawing little spirals as they descend. I pull him back up to eye level. Both of us half standing on the bed, our knees paralleled. My tongue moves past those lips. He moans as well as one can in to my mouth as my fingers wrap themselves around his erect member. He throws his head back enthralled and ensnared in my touch.
I wonder how many nights I spent, thinking about doing just this. How many nights I denied myself my fantasies. He struggles with himself, barely having the presence of mind to try and undo the buckle of my pants. I wonder where that time went, what I did with my misspent youth?
Solving the problem for Harry, throwing him backwards on to the bed. He laughs, narrowly missing the head board of the bed. Laughter, innocent and purely joyous. Something he doesn't do often.
Can he be made whole again? Can I?
Hands wander, warm breath scalds gloriously naked flesh. The lights are burning lower, the spaces beneath the candelabra. A wax battlefield. He is mirrored by dying candle sticks. Highlighting sweat slicked skin, each scar a land mark. Souvenirs of places we'd rather forget. I elicit a moan as my tongue traces the outline of his length. He bucks and jerks his hips as my lips close around him. He grips my head with such ferocity, he no doubt pulls out some hair. I swallow him, letting my throat contract around his erection, feeling the airless euphoria wash over me. Slide my hands against the inner thigh of sciossored legs. A heavy gasp as my teeth graze the head of his cock as I draw back for the sake of burning lungs. His fingers drum on my shoulder, I see a satisfied grin, I lick my lips.
And long before I knew the taste of his flesh, before I could comprehend the sway of hips and the smell of his hair. What were we then, as friends? Mere comrades or potential destinies. Is the ground I stand on, does this place belong to me, or have I simply blundered on to nirvana? Is this a risk I can take or even or a risk at all?
He arches his back as my fingers penetrate, deftly weaving mysticism and aching bodies together. I capture that mouth, jawline and lips and teeth. And he speaks to me, the siren's call, a synchronized frenzy.
Is this love, or a bunch of horny, ideological teens? Well, is it?
I thrust as hard as I can mange, pressing myself against him, aligning our bodies.
Something is in my head. It is tiny and it hides. It whispers, and 'maybe' it says, if I try hard enough and maybe if I thrust just a little harder. Just maybe I can shove myself back in to his being. Back inside of Harry. That is what it has said. For so many years know I think I've been deaf, trying to shut it up. And now he is beneath me, writhing as our skin collides, our bodies fusing in to one. That voice in my head, it's voice is getting so much stronger...
* * *
I ask myself now as I get off the train, what did you say to Harry that night. As he took you back in to his arms, and you kissed. What was it you whispered to him, adamant as you could make yourself. What did you say that broke his heart?! He still took you back that night, he let you touch him and hold him anyway! What did you give him in exchange for a good lay and his love?! Well tell me Draco, what did you give tell him that killed him Draco?! Say it!
* * *
He's hugging his legs to his chest now, my arms around him. He's wrapped in silence and thought. You look so whole together. With arms and legs alike, all in proportion and position. But you can't take it back, this is what love has made of you. Of him. But you look so complete now, feeling so solid and concrete. But you are laced with as much novocain as he is laced with scars. It's all lie right? You just can't, it's not possible.
* * *
Tell us?! Say it Draco, say it!
* * *
You tighten your grip on him, afraid to let him go again. Because this will be the last time and you know it. And this is how you will remember him for all the time after you've let him go. Don't we still have time, to forget who we are. To just stay as who we have become. No, there is no time left for the liars.
* * *
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c...I just... I just...can't love you like you need to be...loved" I whisper as I collect him in my arms. I say it all in one fast breath. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. We both know it'll be our last.
We pretend not to care...
* * *
He's sitting up, tears in his eyes, not willing to pretend he isn't hurt. I get up to leave. Pulling my clothes on as I go.
"I love you Draco..."
I try not to hear him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry, all of you are all probably mad at me. well the plot is unchangeable man. Just can't. Sorry if it was confusing I wrote in a hurry. And this is not the last chapter. Still a lot more to come. THIS IS NOT THE END! Thanks for all the nice reviews. And sorry Hermoine stuff isn't ready, RedHawk refuses to speak to me. Damn it.
Oh and guess what, even though this isn't complete and I'm in the process of rewriting Blight totally as I feel there are some seriously shitty parts here. Well I'm going to be posting Blight's companion piece, tentatively dubbed Mercury, is basically Blight from Harry's point of view. And no, it's not a just Harry bitching, it's actually gonna be less bitching than on the part of Draco which blight focuses on. As well added scenes and perspectives and some interesting twists here and there. How do you think Harry really feels about Draco anyhow? Might be surpising...
By Vahn and only Vahn God Damn It
Notes: By far saddest chapter of 'em all, don't be to mad with me? sorry the beginning is weird. THIS IS NOT THE END! No flames, please REVIEW!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Their hands all over him, all around him. Burying him and concealing all which I was supposed to see. He didn't tell them it was his plan I'm sure. I don't care.
Cut them all down. Make their pain sing for me. A broken wrist.
Why am I crying? They shouldn't know. A cracked kneecap
Why do I want so much to rip them limb from limb? A fractured rib.
Love (Or is it rage?) breaks the bedposts and I drag Harry in to my room. Tossing him on the bed in a anything but a sexual manner. Slamming the door shut with a definite crash, trying so hard to stop myself from slapping him across the face.
"What the fuck were you doing?" I know the answer, I ask anyway.
"What'd look like Draco?" Trying to spite me, you sit back. I don't say anything, running my fingers through my hair, trying not to be angry. Trying not to be the hypocrite I've been turned in to. "Oh come on, this is something you're good at."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up..." I whisper over and over. Shaking my head.
"I was such an idiot, you're just fucking like him! God I would've thought I learned my lesson. Well how does it feel Malfoy, tell me, how does it feel!"
Silence falls like a heavy handed palm.
The blood beneath the skin rushes to the spot, outlining the place I struck him. He falls back on to the bed, looking absolutely terrified. Cowering.
I slapped him across the face. I've actually hit Harry?
"Just like him!" He shies away, afraid I'll hit him again I suppose. Those eyes so filled with anger and fear. So familiar. And that hand print glowing on his face, it seems I've become my father's son after all. My hand makes it's way up to the side of my face. Past it. Searching for the tiny bald spot on my head where a splinter of bone had jutted out. Where that chair had struck, nearly killing me. Harry's crying too now, hugging his legs to his chest, pressing himself against the headboard. Rocking back and forth in slow steady motions. I turn to him, watch his try and stifle his sobs and let him stare back at me.
And we sit like this for hours. Just watching each other cry, and thinking about all the things we'd said and done. Harry forgets to be self conscious, not bothering to cover the constellations of scars. Letting my eyes wash over him. No ugly reminders, just scars. Dozens of exquisite lacerations that sculpted the boy I love. And that's the truth isn't it? And I, this child of disaster and disdain, sired by shrapnel and shame. With my barbed wire bangles and murdered childhood. Just more excuses, and fate written circumstances. Just more reasons I sit here right now. Just more reasons...
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c..." I whisper as I collect him in my arms. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. And with it comes a cascade of memories, of the steely gray skies outside my window at home. That day you fell down the stairs and smacked your head on statue and I kissed you until you said you felt better That day on the train when you turned down my friendship. The first time I heard you laugh. All these things come buzzing forth from beneath you skin and touch. All blurring and bending, shifting and sifting about until they become one memory. Vague and familiar all the same. Something you can't remember or say, caught on the edge of you tongue. I think I just found what I'd been looking for. I kiss him again.
He doesn't speak, but everything that can be said, is said. Through slight of hand and meshing skin, brief glances and stolen touches. He devours me. And with every thought, every long repressed caress, is another button of my shirt undone. And my hands, traveling across the expanse of his back, memorizing ever detail, feathery and wind like. I just want to remember him like this. His lips leave mine, making their way to my collar bone his fingers swirling about my chest, drawing little spirals as they descend. I pull him back up to eye level. Both of us half standing on the bed, our knees paralleled. My tongue moves past those lips. He moans as well as one can in to my mouth as my fingers wrap themselves around his erect member. He throws his head back enthralled and ensnared in my touch.
I wonder how many nights I spent, thinking about doing just this. How many nights I denied myself my fantasies. He struggles with himself, barely having the presence of mind to try and undo the buckle of my pants. I wonder where that time went, what I did with my misspent youth?
Solving the problem for Harry, throwing him backwards on to the bed. He laughs, narrowly missing the head board of the bed. Laughter, innocent and purely joyous. Something he doesn't do often.
Can he be made whole again? Can I?
Hands wander, warm breath scalds gloriously naked flesh. The lights are burning lower, the spaces beneath the candelabra. A wax battlefield. He is mirrored by dying candle sticks. Highlighting sweat slicked skin, each scar a land mark. Souvenirs of places we'd rather forget. I elicit a moan as my tongue traces the outline of his length. He bucks and jerks his hips as my lips close around him. He grips my head with such ferocity, he no doubt pulls out some hair. I swallow him, letting my throat contract around his erection, feeling the airless euphoria wash over me. Slide my hands against the inner thigh of sciossored legs. A heavy gasp as my teeth graze the head of his cock as I draw back for the sake of burning lungs. His fingers drum on my shoulder, I see a satisfied grin, I lick my lips.
And long before I knew the taste of his flesh, before I could comprehend the sway of hips and the smell of his hair. What were we then, as friends? Mere comrades or potential destinies. Is the ground I stand on, does this place belong to me, or have I simply blundered on to nirvana? Is this a risk I can take or even or a risk at all?
He arches his back as my fingers penetrate, deftly weaving mysticism and aching bodies together. I capture that mouth, jawline and lips and teeth. And he speaks to me, the siren's call, a synchronized frenzy.
Is this love, or a bunch of horny, ideological teens? Well, is it?
I thrust as hard as I can mange, pressing myself against him, aligning our bodies.
Something is in my head. It is tiny and it hides. It whispers, and 'maybe' it says, if I try hard enough and maybe if I thrust just a little harder. Just maybe I can shove myself back in to his being. Back inside of Harry. That is what it has said. For so many years know I think I've been deaf, trying to shut it up. And now he is beneath me, writhing as our skin collides, our bodies fusing in to one. That voice in my head, it's voice is getting so much stronger...
* * *
I ask myself now as I get off the train, what did you say to Harry that night. As he took you back in to his arms, and you kissed. What was it you whispered to him, adamant as you could make yourself. What did you say that broke his heart?! He still took you back that night, he let you touch him and hold him anyway! What did you give him in exchange for a good lay and his love?! Well tell me Draco, what did you give tell him that killed him Draco?! Say it!
* * *
He's hugging his legs to his chest now, my arms around him. He's wrapped in silence and thought. You look so whole together. With arms and legs alike, all in proportion and position. But you can't take it back, this is what love has made of you. Of him. But you look so complete now, feeling so solid and concrete. But you are laced with as much novocain as he is laced with scars. It's all lie right? You just can't, it's not possible.
* * *
Tell us?! Say it Draco, say it!
* * *
You tighten your grip on him, afraid to let him go again. Because this will be the last time and you know it. And this is how you will remember him for all the time after you've let him go. Don't we still have time, to forget who we are. To just stay as who we have become. No, there is no time left for the liars.
* * *
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c...I just... I just...can't love you like you need to be...loved" I whisper as I collect him in my arms. I say it all in one fast breath. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. We both know it'll be our last.
We pretend not to care...
* * *
He's sitting up, tears in his eyes, not willing to pretend he isn't hurt. I get up to leave. Pulling my clothes on as I go.
"I love you Draco..."
I try not to hear him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry, all of you are all probably mad at me. well the plot is unchangeable man. Just can't. Sorry if it was confusing I wrote in a hurry. And this is not the last chapter. Still a lot more to come. THIS IS NOT THE END! Thanks for all the nice reviews. And sorry Hermoine stuff isn't ready, RedHawk refuses to speak to me. Damn it.
Oh and guess what, even though this isn't complete and I'm in the process of rewriting Blight totally as I feel there are some seriously shitty parts here. Well I'm going to be posting Blight's companion piece, tentatively dubbed Mercury, is basically Blight from Harry's point of view. And no, it's not a just Harry bitching, it's actually gonna be less bitching than on the part of Draco which blight focuses on. As well added scenes and perspectives and some interesting twists here and there. How do you think Harry really feels about Draco anyhow? Might be surpising...