His is neither pink nor pale
My very first posted fic. woohoo.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, though I would very much like to.
N.B. The title is taken (slightly altered) from a sonnet of Edna St.
Vincent Millay's. She's incredibly brilliant and I urge you all to go out
and read her.
~i saw a boy the other day. he was pale, sugar spun. wispy on the edges. if i looked at him out of the corner of my eye, i could pretend he was a ghost, though he really looked like a fallen angel. in between his long, white fingers was a long, white cigarette. the smoke made him hazy and in his pale eyes i could see him wish for red against his white, white, white. i wanted to take him to bed and strip him of his pallor for two...three...four seconds of ecstasy, but i thought he'd fake it anyway. most do.~
~i am ready i am
"draco, i-"
i am not your fuck toy.
he'd said that weeks ago, and it had stayed in his head, made a rotten nest and fed on his brain. i am not your fuck toy, and draco had withdrawn his white fingers and sneered.
"you're everybody's fuck toy, potter." and harry had left.
the next night they lay, quiet and pale, naked but not touching.
"harry," draco had said. and harry had kissed him, tenderly in the hollow of his neck, shushed him, and fallen asleep. and now...
"draco, i- i'm ready."
i am ready i am~
~often, harry wants to peel off your face. he thinks you wear it like a mask, a pale, cold mask. he's terrified that one day you'll wear another, white and unmoving, and then you'll slip into anonymity and cease to be draco. but you don't know this, do you? you don't know he fears for you. you don't know he feels for you.~
~He saw you that night, standing by the lake. You were a monochromatic blur against the shadows, made up of silvers, whites, and greys. Against you, he felt ugly. Perhaps this is why he stayed in the night, cloaked in black, though underneath he was a pulsing swirl of pinks and reds- flesh colors, not like you Draco, not like your white cold. He saw you tilt your head back, moonlight pooling into the folds of your flesh, and he wanted to touch you; he wanted to see if you'd bleed red. He had a notion, a silly notion, he supposed, that you would bleed silver. Thick and cool, like unicorn's blood.~
~i saw a boy the other day. he was pale, sugar spun. wispy on the edges. if i looked at him out of the corner of my eye, i could pretend he was a ghost, though he really looked like a fallen angel. in between his long, white fingers was a long, white cigarette. the smoke made him hazy and in his pale eyes i could see him wish for red against his white, white, white. i wanted to take him to bed and strip him of his pallor for two...three...four seconds of ecstasy, but i thought he'd fake it anyway. most do.~
~i am ready i am
"draco, i-"
i am not your fuck toy.
he'd said that weeks ago, and it had stayed in his head, made a rotten nest and fed on his brain. i am not your fuck toy, and draco had withdrawn his white fingers and sneered.
"you're everybody's fuck toy, potter." and harry had left.
the next night they lay, quiet and pale, naked but not touching.
"harry," draco had said. and harry had kissed him, tenderly in the hollow of his neck, shushed him, and fallen asleep. and now...
"draco, i- i'm ready."
i am ready i am~
~often, harry wants to peel off your face. he thinks you wear it like a mask, a pale, cold mask. he's terrified that one day you'll wear another, white and unmoving, and then you'll slip into anonymity and cease to be draco. but you don't know this, do you? you don't know he fears for you. you don't know he feels for you.~
~He saw you that night, standing by the lake. You were a monochromatic blur against the shadows, made up of silvers, whites, and greys. Against you, he felt ugly. Perhaps this is why he stayed in the night, cloaked in black, though underneath he was a pulsing swirl of pinks and reds- flesh colors, not like you Draco, not like your white cold. He saw you tilt your head back, moonlight pooling into the folds of your flesh, and he wanted to touch you; he wanted to see if you'd bleed red. He had a notion, a silly notion, he supposed, that you would bleed silver. Thick and cool, like unicorn's blood.~