FIC: The Benefit (Roger/Blaise, PG)
Title: The Benefit
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Roger/Blaise
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350 words
Summary: It is a benefit. It is always a benefit.
Additional Notes: Belongs to the fanfic100 challenge under prompt Diamond. Written for ccharlotte. Forgive me for the crappy title. :|
It is a benefit. It is always a benefit.
It is a benefit in the middle of winter, in a ballroom of sparkling crystal chandeliers and dazzling water-fountain center pieces, light cocktails served with equally superficial conversation and gorgeous velvet robes mingling, dancing, waiting to be seen and noted and photographed.
Introductions are unnecessary.
“Needed fresh air?”
The night chills and cuts through his bones; inside, a tall brooding man with broad shoulders and dark eyes leads his new wife to the ballroom. He nods without looking back. “Yourself?”
He doesn’t see the man shrug, but he hears the tinkle of wine-glasses and the beginning strains of a dead man’s last waltz from inside, feels the movement of elegant black robes and the whisper from just behind his ear.
He is not given an answer. “You’re nearly shivering.” Hot air ghosts over his skin as a coat is draped over his shoulders. “I was bored. Nobody inside knew how to dance.”
“Are you asking me to dance?” he asks, turning his head around the smallest inch, lips playfully contemplating a lazy smile.
His smile is returned, impish and devious. “I don’t ask.”
He lets him take his hand and he is drawn inside, from out of the blue-white winter night into the warmth of large, slightly rough hands beneath his, hips barely touching hips as he is swayed to the last notes of an allegretto, drawn breathlessly closer as song fades into slower lento.
“Didn’t know you danced,” he murmurs.
His voice is a low and husky promise. “It’s a perk that comes with the package.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Excuse me.” And then he is gone.
Somewhere the program is beginning. The music fades, war orphans-the cause for the evening-are given hope, and everyone turns to face the stage, anticipating with bated breath.
He isn’t surprised when they call him first from among his team’s lineup. It is, after all, their benefit. Light brown eyes lock into his own olive green, winking deliberately, and he knows the night’s far from over.
He smirks.
Let the bidding begin.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Roger/Blaise
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350 words
Summary: It is a benefit. It is always a benefit.
Additional Notes: Belongs to the fanfic100 challenge under prompt Diamond. Written for ccharlotte. Forgive me for the crappy title. :|
It is a benefit. It is always a benefit.
It is a benefit in the middle of winter, in a ballroom of sparkling crystal chandeliers and dazzling water-fountain center pieces, light cocktails served with equally superficial conversation and gorgeous velvet robes mingling, dancing, waiting to be seen and noted and photographed.
Introductions are unnecessary.
“Needed fresh air?”
The night chills and cuts through his bones; inside, a tall brooding man with broad shoulders and dark eyes leads his new wife to the ballroom. He nods without looking back. “Yourself?”
He doesn’t see the man shrug, but he hears the tinkle of wine-glasses and the beginning strains of a dead man’s last waltz from inside, feels the movement of elegant black robes and the whisper from just behind his ear.
He is not given an answer. “You’re nearly shivering.” Hot air ghosts over his skin as a coat is draped over his shoulders. “I was bored. Nobody inside knew how to dance.”
“Are you asking me to dance?” he asks, turning his head around the smallest inch, lips playfully contemplating a lazy smile.
His smile is returned, impish and devious. “I don’t ask.”
He lets him take his hand and he is drawn inside, from out of the blue-white winter night into the warmth of large, slightly rough hands beneath his, hips barely touching hips as he is swayed to the last notes of an allegretto, drawn breathlessly closer as song fades into slower lento.
“Didn’t know you danced,” he murmurs.
His voice is a low and husky promise. “It’s a perk that comes with the package.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Excuse me.” And then he is gone.
Somewhere the program is beginning. The music fades, war orphans-the cause for the evening-are given hope, and everyone turns to face the stage, anticipating with bated breath.
He isn’t surprised when they call him first from among his team’s lineup. It is, after all, their benefit. Light brown eyes lock into his own olive green, winking deliberately, and he knows the night’s far from over.
He smirks.
Let the bidding begin.