Fic: The Lies Between | Penelope Clearwater/Julian Vaisey | PG-13
Title: The Lies Between
Characters: Penelope Clearwater/Julian Vaisey
Word Count: 201
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Semi-original character. RPG-based.
Summary: Sometimes the lies you tell are less frightening than the loneliness you might feel if you stopped telling them. - Brock Clarke
Author's Notes: Just a wee drabble that I wrote for hp_humpdrabbles about a month ago now and forgot to archive. My bad. Julian Vaisey is a semi-OC based on leigh_adams ' characterization.
It was always the same between them. Sharp words and hard looks became vengeful kisses. Rough hands would tear at lace and satin. Then whatever flat surface available would be put to the obvious use.
And afterwards, they read the script, played their parts.
"We can't do this again," she'd whisper, dress around her waist, savoring the weight of him between her thighs.
"Oh, I believe we can," he'd coolly reply. If not for the sweat on his brow and state of undress, he could have been in just another business meeting for all the emotion he'd display.
"I mean I won't." Lies, lies, lies. All she did anymore was lie.
"Why not?"
"You hate me. I despise you." For good reasons, the both of them. No matter was her stomach did when he walked into a room or how her heart felt when she saw him with the twins.
"There is that," he'd sigh and pull away. She liked to imagine his touch lingered, that if she pulled him back, he'd gladly come.
But then he'd sit at his desk and begin paperwork, as if she weren't even there--a silent dismissal. So, she would hate him. It was less hurtful.
Characters: Penelope Clearwater/Julian Vaisey
Word Count: 201
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Semi-original character. RPG-based.
Summary: Sometimes the lies you tell are less frightening than the loneliness you might feel if you stopped telling them. - Brock Clarke
Author's Notes: Just a wee drabble that I wrote for hp_humpdrabbles about a month ago now and forgot to archive. My bad. Julian Vaisey is a semi-OC based on leigh_adams ' characterization.
It was always the same between them. Sharp words and hard looks became vengeful kisses. Rough hands would tear at lace and satin. Then whatever flat surface available would be put to the obvious use.
And afterwards, they read the script, played their parts.
"We can't do this again," she'd whisper, dress around her waist, savoring the weight of him between her thighs.
"Oh, I believe we can," he'd coolly reply. If not for the sweat on his brow and state of undress, he could have been in just another business meeting for all the emotion he'd display.
"I mean I won't." Lies, lies, lies. All she did anymore was lie.
"Why not?"
"You hate me. I despise you." For good reasons, the both of them. No matter was her stomach did when he walked into a room or how her heart felt when she saw him with the twins.
"There is that," he'd sigh and pull away. She liked to imagine his touch lingered, that if she pulled him back, he'd gladly come.
But then he'd sit at his desk and begin paperwork, as if she weren't even there--a silent dismissal. So, she would hate him. It was less hurtful.