"Singed"
secondservings has been updated with chapter 2 of "The Orli Fic," so please check that out!
Yet another crap summary. I think this is the raciest thing I've ever written, and I'm pretty nervous about it. The mood picture I have defined as 'nervous' isn't really representative of how I feel, but anyway, I'm edgy about it. I know it's really not much compared to other fics, but anyway, it was on the daring side for me. Thank you to huffpuffkeeper and mynuet for words of widsom and reassurance. Thank you also to mynuet for the beta and everything!
Title: "Singed"
Ship: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R
Summary: Ginny wants revenge, and she extracts it from Draco.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.
- Shakespeare
She is seventeen years old, and she feels much too old. She feels cold and clammy, and she’s not at all certain of what she’s doing here, but she’s here anyway and it’s too late to leave because he’s going to arrive any minute.
So she lies back on silk sheets and counts how many times the fire snaps at her. She’s counted eleven cracks of burning wood when he comes.
She breathes out low and thinks, This is it.
She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, and she sees his eyes land on her. He hesitates, half in and half out of the room, and she falters as well, although he can’t see it.
He sees her and after a moment, he quickly shuts the door because there are people outside in the hallways. But he doesn’t step towards her.
He is eighteen years old, and he’s too tired. It’s raining like mad outside, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing outside, but there he is. He’s standing on the parapet and letting the rain pound at him, breaking off pieces of him. He lets it happen.
He’s too cold now, so he moves. He drips water all over the stones, and he doesn’t realize how tired he is until he has to repeat the password to his Head Boy room twice because the first time, his lips are numb and his tongue won’t work properly.
He pushes open the door and he sees her, reclined against the bed, too young, too pale, too much something hurting him.
She slides off the bed and moves toward him.
Ginny Weasley was waiting in his room when he came back, dripping water, wet head to toe, droplets fringing his eyelashes and sliding from his hair into his eyes. He blinked at the water.
Draco Malfoy took one look at her and flinched. He was shivering violently from the cold. Outside, they heard the thunder echo through the halls of Hogwarts. Her eyes were intent on his.
He wondered how they came to this.
“Don’t do this,” he finally said. “You don’t want this.”
She smiled a feral smile, and the look in her eyes was unpleasant. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I know that you don’t really want this,” he said tiredly. “You can take my Invisibility Cloak and just go. Please, Gin…”
She laughed mockingly, and when she responded, her every word was punctuated and clear. “Draco Malfoy, saying please? My, my…how far the mighty have fallen…”
He stared expressionlessly at her. There wasn’t anything he could do. She was out for blood, and she was going to get it.
“Haven’t you had enough?”
Draco hadn’t meant to say that, but there it was, out there in the air between them.
She leaned in close. “No,” she whispered, and ran her teeth over his ear. “I have not. An eye and an arm for an eye, Draco, you taught me that. Always take more than what’s taken from you. To compensate.”
An eye for an eye and an eye and an arm and a heart.
Draco wanted to speak again then, but this time he managed to check himself. He clenched his teeth, and smoothed his face again when she drew back and looked at him. His face was blank. He avoided her eyes.
He sensed the desperation around her, and he knew that she had gotten lost in her plan. He had never had a plan. He did things without thinking because the consequences never affected him.
Ginny pressed her hips into his, and he bit down hard on his lip. Her hands fell from his shoulders and moved towards a zipper. He wanted to stop her then, but he didn’t. He held himself completely motionless, clinging grimly onto his aloofness. He tried to exhale, but he found that he couldn’t. So he stood there, choking on his breath, staring straight ahead of him. Then he couldn’t stand it because his vision was blackening and he breathed out noisily.
Her hands were shaking, but she finally managed to unbuckle his belt with a soft clink. She sank down to the floor, pulling his pants down as she went, feeling the silk black shorts she revealed. He stepped out of his pants obediently, and as she stood to meet his gaze again, there was a dark, terrified triumph in her brown eyes. He stared back at her, and she switched her attention to his robes.
She slid his robes off his shoulders and let them fall straight to the ground.
“Ginny,” he whispered, staring down at the mussed, silky hair that tumbled over her shoulders as she bent over the hem of his shirt.
Her hands didn’t stop fumbling at his shirt. He stopped trying to speak to her.
She encountered difficulty in peeling away the soggy sweater that seemed to have shrunk in the rain and was molded to his body. He was taller than she was, and he didn’t see how she would be able to pull it over his head if he didn’t help.
He finally let his hands cover hers at the hem, stilling her restless efforts, and he tugged the black sweater off himself, dropping it do the floor beside his pants and robes.
Her eyes passed over his face fleetingly, too quick for him to even attempt to hold her gaze, but still not quick enough to hide the panic in her eyes. He saw her clench her jaw as she bore down on her fear, and she stepped forward, fitting the smooth curves of her body to the lean muscle of his. His body was very cold, and she felt warm.
She laid her head against his chest, which was still damp, and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t move.
Draco was sure his heart was beating too loudly, and he lifted a hand in distress, passing it over his eyes.
He loved her. The knowledge came like the taste of bitter-wine chocolate, and he wanted to spit it back out of his mouth, his mind. Ginny missed his pained expression.
Draco tried to think back on how this all began, but he couldn’t really remember. It had to do with money and taunts and undiluted lust and loneliness. He didn’t remember much else.
It had to do something with how he nearly killed her brother on the Quidditch pitch. She’d never said so, but Draco was clever, and he suspected. But he had never said anything to her before.
It had something to do with wanting to humiliate her. It had something to do with using her.
It had something to do with not checking the seemingly empty corridors before he opened his mouth and how talented he was at injecting loathing and derision into his voice when he talked about the fuckable girl Weasel whose only attribute was a nice rack.
Now, now he loved her. Draco wanted her, and Ginny wanted revenge. After all of it, after the entire mess, he was going to give it to her. After all of it, Draco didn’t have the right not to let her have her chance for revenge.
The Slytherin in him objectively admired the brilliance of it all. He loved her, and Ginny was going to force him to make a mockery of his love. She was going to make him give her what she wanted, what he wanted, and she was going to make him regret it.
It would be a fucking, a shag, a lay. It would be quick and angry and feverish, and it would be her first time.
Draco’s stomach turned, and he wanted to retch.
Ginny turned her eyes on him. And it was painfully clear to him that she didn’t know how to start, that she didn’t know how to begin, that she knew she’d help start this and she didn’t know how to start to make it end.
Draco’s hands were shaking, and he kept them determinedly at his sides. His grey eyes were hooded, and they had darkened involuntarily, just as his body’s quickening reaction to her was extracted and dragged out deliberately.
Ginny dropped lightly to her knees in front of him, hands on his lean hips. The striped rugby shirt she was wearing fell to a little less than mid-thigh, and he recognized it as his. He stared at the hemline and thought that she looked stunning, even in such a simple apparel. In their rather extensive past of petting and caressing and kissing, he had learned that Ginny’s body was made for slow seduction and slow loving. Draco wanted to lay his hands on the curves his shirt barely covered and just take his time and just feel.
She was going to make him fuck her. She was going to make him take her first time. Ginny wasn’t going to let it be something that Draco could call making love.
Draco suddenly couldn’t bear to see her on her knees in front of him, so he hauled her up by the upper arms, roughly, but without excess force. Ginny stared up at him, defiant and daring him to make a move.
Draco tangled his hands in her hair, stroking her, feeling the small trembling of her frame. He sighed, and then he kissed her.
This was familiar ground, and Ginny tried immediately to deepen the kiss, rushing into it. Draco kept his lips pressed tightly shut. All those girls that had come before her was finally going to have its usefulness. He knew what he was doing.
She was insistent, but he was more stubborn and more desperate to change this. She had come to his room tonight with the intention of seducing him, of making him lose control, of making it something that would hurt her and hurt him in the process. Draco had returned to his room from Head Boy duties expecting to feel like absolute shit, expecting that she would have let it go and that he would have a chance to right things.
She finally stilled reluctantly. Draco’s lips were soft on hers, and she made a sound of discontent when he kept the kiss light and distant.
She let him lead with his mouth, but she was implacable and she wanted to quicken the pace. Ginny’s hands quested down his bare back, feeling every ridge of his taut spine. Before she could reach his lower body, he claimed both her hands with a hand, locking his long fingers around her wrists and holding her immobile. When he was sure she wouldn’t touch him, he dropped his hands to the worn shirt and drew it slowly over her shoulders and head. The last article of clothing she had on, if it could be called that, was a scrap of lace that passed for panties. It was horribly incongruous with his old sports shirt, and it reminded Draco of calculating forethought.
Gently, he guided them backwards until she sat down at the end of his bed and scooted herself back to the headboard. The fear was thinly veiled in her eyes now, and he paused, holding back from her, still standing at the feet of the bed, hoping that she’d pushed him far enough and that she wanted to stop. The question must have been in his eyes because her response was to relax her position and part her lips in an unspoken demand.
Draco crawled down the length of the bed to her, pressing her down into the mattress with his weight. Ginny’s hair spilled across his pillows in soft waves from the plaits she’d worn during the day. Draco reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear as he slid a kiss lower down her body, eliciting the instinctive reaction from her that surprised her as her hips bucked up to meet his.
Draco sucked in his breath, as if he were trying to speak, but couldn’t find enough breath to utter the words. She raised her head and kissed his perfectly shaped lips, curling a small hand around his neck and pulling him down to meet her. Everything seemed dark, and Draco was grateful for the dim lighting.
Ginny’s back arched as his mouth touched a breast and covered a nipple, nipping and tonguing the tiny bud. Her hands fisted in the sheets as she braced herself for an onslaught that didn’t come. He lavished her with his attention and concentration, hardly enjoying the moment himself, too busy focusing on restraining himself.
The lighting in his room was weak, but it was still bright enough - or maybe his eyes had adjusted - for him to see the shock of pain on her face when he stabbed into her. He had hurt her, and she was rendered momentarily breathless because of it.
His thrusts were slow and sure, expert, controlled rolls of his hips. The measured, unhurried friction had her thrashing beneath him, and her body became slick with sweat. Draco had broke out into a sweat since he saw her. His hand slid down between their bodies to touch her, and he swallowed his name she screamed with his mouth as she exploded around him.
Two more thrusts and the knowledge that it was Ginny finally sent Draco over the edge and he came after a split moment of perfect stillness, poised above her.
When it was done, she lay there, curled into herself, sobbing with the aftermath of the climax.
“Ginny,” Draco whispered, propping himself up shakily on an elbow to lean over her. The candles had burned low and extinguished themselves in the wax, and he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t assess the damage. He was hesitant to touch her even though he wanted so badly just to catch her up in his arms and rock her in the age-old motion of comfort. “Gin, I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry I - ”
He was suddenly rolled over, on his back, Ginny’s arms tight around him.
“Don’t be sorry,” Ginny breathed, voice shaking. “Don’t be sorry, Draco, I love you, too.”
A/N: Inspired by Brand New's "Sic Transit Gloria."
You don’t recover from a night like this
A victim still lying in bed completely motionless
A hand moves in the dark to a zipper
Hear a boy bracing tight against sheets barely whisper, “This is so messed up.”
No longer cool but a boy in a stitch
Unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships
He keeps his hands low
His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up
But the body on the bed beckons forward and he starts growing up
The fever, the focus
The reasons that I had to believe you weren’t too hard to sell
Die young and save yourself
It used to be the reason I breathed but now it’s choking me up
Die young and save yourself
She hits the lights
This doesn’t seem quite fair
She’s breathing quiet and smooth
(He is gasping for air).
“This is the first and last time,” he says
She fakes a smile and presses her hips into his
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides
He’s holding back from telling her exactly what it really feels like
He is lamb
She is the slaughter
She’s moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her.
Nothing that he tells her is really having an effect
He whispers that he loves her
But she’s probably only looking for…
So much more than he could ever give
A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides
He waits for it to end and for the aching in his guts to subside
Yet another crap summary. I think this is the raciest thing I've ever written, and I'm pretty nervous about it. The mood picture I have defined as 'nervous' isn't really representative of how I feel, but anyway, I'm edgy about it. I know it's really not much compared to other fics, but anyway, it was on the daring side for me. Thank you to huffpuffkeeper and mynuet for words of widsom and reassurance. Thank you also to mynuet for the beta and everything!
Title: "Singed"
Ship: Draco/Ginny
Rating: R
Summary: Ginny wants revenge, and she extracts it from Draco.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.
- Shakespeare
She is seventeen years old, and she feels much too old. She feels cold and clammy, and she’s not at all certain of what she’s doing here, but she’s here anyway and it’s too late to leave because he’s going to arrive any minute.
So she lies back on silk sheets and counts how many times the fire snaps at her. She’s counted eleven cracks of burning wood when he comes.
She breathes out low and thinks, This is it.
She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, and she sees his eyes land on her. He hesitates, half in and half out of the room, and she falters as well, although he can’t see it.
He sees her and after a moment, he quickly shuts the door because there are people outside in the hallways. But he doesn’t step towards her.
He is eighteen years old, and he’s too tired. It’s raining like mad outside, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing outside, but there he is. He’s standing on the parapet and letting the rain pound at him, breaking off pieces of him. He lets it happen.
He’s too cold now, so he moves. He drips water all over the stones, and he doesn’t realize how tired he is until he has to repeat the password to his Head Boy room twice because the first time, his lips are numb and his tongue won’t work properly.
He pushes open the door and he sees her, reclined against the bed, too young, too pale, too much something hurting him.
She slides off the bed and moves toward him.
Ginny Weasley was waiting in his room when he came back, dripping water, wet head to toe, droplets fringing his eyelashes and sliding from his hair into his eyes. He blinked at the water.
Draco Malfoy took one look at her and flinched. He was shivering violently from the cold. Outside, they heard the thunder echo through the halls of Hogwarts. Her eyes were intent on his.
He wondered how they came to this.
“Don’t do this,” he finally said. “You don’t want this.”
She smiled a feral smile, and the look in her eyes was unpleasant. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I know that you don’t really want this,” he said tiredly. “You can take my Invisibility Cloak and just go. Please, Gin…”
She laughed mockingly, and when she responded, her every word was punctuated and clear. “Draco Malfoy, saying please? My, my…how far the mighty have fallen…”
He stared expressionlessly at her. There wasn’t anything he could do. She was out for blood, and she was going to get it.
“Haven’t you had enough?”
Draco hadn’t meant to say that, but there it was, out there in the air between them.
She leaned in close. “No,” she whispered, and ran her teeth over his ear. “I have not. An eye and an arm for an eye, Draco, you taught me that. Always take more than what’s taken from you. To compensate.”
An eye for an eye and an eye and an arm and a heart.
Draco wanted to speak again then, but this time he managed to check himself. He clenched his teeth, and smoothed his face again when she drew back and looked at him. His face was blank. He avoided her eyes.
He sensed the desperation around her, and he knew that she had gotten lost in her plan. He had never had a plan. He did things without thinking because the consequences never affected him.
Ginny pressed her hips into his, and he bit down hard on his lip. Her hands fell from his shoulders and moved towards a zipper. He wanted to stop her then, but he didn’t. He held himself completely motionless, clinging grimly onto his aloofness. He tried to exhale, but he found that he couldn’t. So he stood there, choking on his breath, staring straight ahead of him. Then he couldn’t stand it because his vision was blackening and he breathed out noisily.
Her hands were shaking, but she finally managed to unbuckle his belt with a soft clink. She sank down to the floor, pulling his pants down as she went, feeling the silk black shorts she revealed. He stepped out of his pants obediently, and as she stood to meet his gaze again, there was a dark, terrified triumph in her brown eyes. He stared back at her, and she switched her attention to his robes.
She slid his robes off his shoulders and let them fall straight to the ground.
“Ginny,” he whispered, staring down at the mussed, silky hair that tumbled over her shoulders as she bent over the hem of his shirt.
Her hands didn’t stop fumbling at his shirt. He stopped trying to speak to her.
She encountered difficulty in peeling away the soggy sweater that seemed to have shrunk in the rain and was molded to his body. He was taller than she was, and he didn’t see how she would be able to pull it over his head if he didn’t help.
He finally let his hands cover hers at the hem, stilling her restless efforts, and he tugged the black sweater off himself, dropping it do the floor beside his pants and robes.
Her eyes passed over his face fleetingly, too quick for him to even attempt to hold her gaze, but still not quick enough to hide the panic in her eyes. He saw her clench her jaw as she bore down on her fear, and she stepped forward, fitting the smooth curves of her body to the lean muscle of his. His body was very cold, and she felt warm.
She laid her head against his chest, which was still damp, and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t move.
Draco was sure his heart was beating too loudly, and he lifted a hand in distress, passing it over his eyes.
He loved her. The knowledge came like the taste of bitter-wine chocolate, and he wanted to spit it back out of his mouth, his mind. Ginny missed his pained expression.
Draco tried to think back on how this all began, but he couldn’t really remember. It had to do with money and taunts and undiluted lust and loneliness. He didn’t remember much else.
It had to do something with how he nearly killed her brother on the Quidditch pitch. She’d never said so, but Draco was clever, and he suspected. But he had never said anything to her before.
It had something to do with wanting to humiliate her. It had something to do with using her.
It had something to do with not checking the seemingly empty corridors before he opened his mouth and how talented he was at injecting loathing and derision into his voice when he talked about the fuckable girl Weasel whose only attribute was a nice rack.
Now, now he loved her. Draco wanted her, and Ginny wanted revenge. After all of it, after the entire mess, he was going to give it to her. After all of it, Draco didn’t have the right not to let her have her chance for revenge.
The Slytherin in him objectively admired the brilliance of it all. He loved her, and Ginny was going to force him to make a mockery of his love. She was going to make him give her what she wanted, what he wanted, and she was going to make him regret it.
It would be a fucking, a shag, a lay. It would be quick and angry and feverish, and it would be her first time.
Draco’s stomach turned, and he wanted to retch.
Ginny turned her eyes on him. And it was painfully clear to him that she didn’t know how to start, that she didn’t know how to begin, that she knew she’d help start this and she didn’t know how to start to make it end.
Draco’s hands were shaking, and he kept them determinedly at his sides. His grey eyes were hooded, and they had darkened involuntarily, just as his body’s quickening reaction to her was extracted and dragged out deliberately.
Ginny dropped lightly to her knees in front of him, hands on his lean hips. The striped rugby shirt she was wearing fell to a little less than mid-thigh, and he recognized it as his. He stared at the hemline and thought that she looked stunning, even in such a simple apparel. In their rather extensive past of petting and caressing and kissing, he had learned that Ginny’s body was made for slow seduction and slow loving. Draco wanted to lay his hands on the curves his shirt barely covered and just take his time and just feel.
She was going to make him fuck her. She was going to make him take her first time. Ginny wasn’t going to let it be something that Draco could call making love.
Draco suddenly couldn’t bear to see her on her knees in front of him, so he hauled her up by the upper arms, roughly, but without excess force. Ginny stared up at him, defiant and daring him to make a move.
Draco tangled his hands in her hair, stroking her, feeling the small trembling of her frame. He sighed, and then he kissed her.
This was familiar ground, and Ginny tried immediately to deepen the kiss, rushing into it. Draco kept his lips pressed tightly shut. All those girls that had come before her was finally going to have its usefulness. He knew what he was doing.
She was insistent, but he was more stubborn and more desperate to change this. She had come to his room tonight with the intention of seducing him, of making him lose control, of making it something that would hurt her and hurt him in the process. Draco had returned to his room from Head Boy duties expecting to feel like absolute shit, expecting that she would have let it go and that he would have a chance to right things.
She finally stilled reluctantly. Draco’s lips were soft on hers, and she made a sound of discontent when he kept the kiss light and distant.
She let him lead with his mouth, but she was implacable and she wanted to quicken the pace. Ginny’s hands quested down his bare back, feeling every ridge of his taut spine. Before she could reach his lower body, he claimed both her hands with a hand, locking his long fingers around her wrists and holding her immobile. When he was sure she wouldn’t touch him, he dropped his hands to the worn shirt and drew it slowly over her shoulders and head. The last article of clothing she had on, if it could be called that, was a scrap of lace that passed for panties. It was horribly incongruous with his old sports shirt, and it reminded Draco of calculating forethought.
Gently, he guided them backwards until she sat down at the end of his bed and scooted herself back to the headboard. The fear was thinly veiled in her eyes now, and he paused, holding back from her, still standing at the feet of the bed, hoping that she’d pushed him far enough and that she wanted to stop. The question must have been in his eyes because her response was to relax her position and part her lips in an unspoken demand.
Draco crawled down the length of the bed to her, pressing her down into the mattress with his weight. Ginny’s hair spilled across his pillows in soft waves from the plaits she’d worn during the day. Draco reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear as he slid a kiss lower down her body, eliciting the instinctive reaction from her that surprised her as her hips bucked up to meet his.
Draco sucked in his breath, as if he were trying to speak, but couldn’t find enough breath to utter the words. She raised her head and kissed his perfectly shaped lips, curling a small hand around his neck and pulling him down to meet her. Everything seemed dark, and Draco was grateful for the dim lighting.
Ginny’s back arched as his mouth touched a breast and covered a nipple, nipping and tonguing the tiny bud. Her hands fisted in the sheets as she braced herself for an onslaught that didn’t come. He lavished her with his attention and concentration, hardly enjoying the moment himself, too busy focusing on restraining himself.
The lighting in his room was weak, but it was still bright enough - or maybe his eyes had adjusted - for him to see the shock of pain on her face when he stabbed into her. He had hurt her, and she was rendered momentarily breathless because of it.
His thrusts were slow and sure, expert, controlled rolls of his hips. The measured, unhurried friction had her thrashing beneath him, and her body became slick with sweat. Draco had broke out into a sweat since he saw her. His hand slid down between their bodies to touch her, and he swallowed his name she screamed with his mouth as she exploded around him.
Two more thrusts and the knowledge that it was Ginny finally sent Draco over the edge and he came after a split moment of perfect stillness, poised above her.
When it was done, she lay there, curled into herself, sobbing with the aftermath of the climax.
“Ginny,” Draco whispered, propping himself up shakily on an elbow to lean over her. The candles had burned low and extinguished themselves in the wax, and he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t assess the damage. He was hesitant to touch her even though he wanted so badly just to catch her up in his arms and rock her in the age-old motion of comfort. “Gin, I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry I - ”
He was suddenly rolled over, on his back, Ginny’s arms tight around him.
“Don’t be sorry,” Ginny breathed, voice shaking. “Don’t be sorry, Draco, I love you, too.”
A/N: Inspired by Brand New's "Sic Transit Gloria."
You don’t recover from a night like this
A victim still lying in bed completely motionless
A hand moves in the dark to a zipper
Hear a boy bracing tight against sheets barely whisper, “This is so messed up.”
No longer cool but a boy in a stitch
Unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships
He keeps his hands low
His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up
But the body on the bed beckons forward and he starts growing up
The fever, the focus
The reasons that I had to believe you weren’t too hard to sell
Die young and save yourself
It used to be the reason I breathed but now it’s choking me up
Die young and save yourself
She hits the lights
This doesn’t seem quite fair
She’s breathing quiet and smooth
(He is gasping for air).
“This is the first and last time,” he says
She fakes a smile and presses her hips into his
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides
He’s holding back from telling her exactly what it really feels like
He is lamb
She is the slaughter
She’s moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her.
Nothing that he tells her is really having an effect
He whispers that he loves her
But she’s probably only looking for…
So much more than he could ever give
A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides
He waits for it to end and for the aching in his guts to subside