Word Count: 518
"How do you like your steak?" Blaise asks, dripping some of the marinade onto the skillet and listening to the sizzle.
"Medium rare," Lucius answers, his tone dry and uncaring.
"Huh." Blaise drops the meat onto the skillet. "An aristocrat."
He sees the way Lucius winces, like it's supposed to be a jab. Maybe he sees everything as an attack. Once, Lucius Malfoy had been a king in his own right. He had lived in luxury.
Then came several poor choices. Now Lucius is a broken man with a shattered reputation. The only reason he isn't rotting in Azkaban is because Harry Potter saved the entire family.
And yet, somehow, Blaise still wants him.
Lucius pours another glass of wine, drinking deeply.
…
"You drink too much," Blaise notes when Lucius downs his third glass of Scotch.
"You talk too much."
Maybe it hurts, but Blaise is too bloody proud to admit it. He just shrugs it off. He doesn't care if it hurts. All he wants is Lucius, and he will have him.
…
"Why are you always around?" Lucius demands.
Blaise smirks and steps closer. "I think you know the answer to that."
They're both trying to escape in their own way. Lucius drinks so that he doesn't have to face his own failures, so that he doesn't have to acknowledge that he's lost everything. Blaise chases after a man because if he can save Lucius then maybe he can find penance for not saving Theo during the war.
"I don't need you."
"Maybe not." Blaise reaches out, fingers tangling in Lucius' platinum blond locks. He pulls the older man closer. "But you want me."
Their eyes meet. Silently, Blaise dares Lucius to prove him wrong.
He doesn't. Instead, their lips press together, more bruising than caring, and Blaise fucking loves it. He has finally forced even the faintest spark of passion from Lucius.
He laughs into the kiss, and Lucius pins him against the wall.
"This doesn't mean anything," Lucius growls in his ear before his lips find Blaise's neck.
…
Night after night, it doesn't mean anything. He falls into Lucius' bed, but he's out the door before the sun rises.
This isn't right, but he doesn't care. His mother never taught him what love is supposed to look like, and he will take what he can get.
…
Blaise lights a cigarette as he sits up in bed.
"Only a fool would stay aboard a sinking ship," Lucius says, and there's a coldness in his voice that sends daggers into Blaise's heart.
"Not if there's a chance the ship can be fixed."
Lucius laughs at that. "Is that your plan? Make me your little project and try to put me back together again?"
Blaise's cheeks burn. He shrugs. "I think I should go."
To his surprise, Lucius catches him by the wrist. "Stay."
He sounds so lost, so desperate, that Blaise couldn't even dream of saying no.
This isn't a conventional kind of romance. There is pain and loneliness and so many broken pieces. But it is his, and he loves it anyway.