For itsbeenvery: Nothing at All [Fic, R, Draco/Blaise]
Title: Nothing At All.
By: shh...it's a secret
For: itsbeenvery.
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Blaise.
Rating: R.
Summary: Draco is conflicted and Blaise doesn't care.
Word count: 1495.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta. Usual disclaimers apply. Hope you like this, itsbeenvery. For hpslashnotsmut 2007.
Draco was tired, and it showed. Once upon a time, he had been the picture perfect Slytherin: not a hair out of place, immaculately attired, attitude that of the sneering pureblood aristocrat. Now, well into sixth year, he had dark shadows under his eyes and his robes were rumpled, his expression one of worry and fear. His words, which could still cut people's feelings like a knife, were tinged with over-confidence. Blaise, intelligent, pureblooded and rather self indulgent, was aware that his once eager and active bed partner was now too preoccupied to deal with anything other than himself. In short, Draco's selfishness had reached new levels, which meant that others did not factor into his existence whatsoever. This meant that Blaise's own needs were being neglected.
For a while, it didn't really bother Blaise; after all, he could get what he wanted from anyone he chose. A careful word here, a flirtatious look there, and Blaise knew that his good looks and charm would practically guarantee him a night or two with whichever partner interested him at the time. But the lack of Draco was beginning to annoy him. They had, after all, spent a great deal of time together, and really, Blaise muttered to himself, too much time, energy and training had gone into making Draco a suitable partner who didn't need guidance as to what Blaise liked for Blaise to simply let him go.
He didn't really care about whatever it was that bothered Draco; didn't care about the causes of those dark shadows under the blond's silvery eyes. He didn't really worry about the fact that Draco's usually impeccable dress sense had descended from fastidiously neat and tidy into rumpled and messy. He didn't care that at night, Draco's nightmares woke him - and the rest of the boy's dorm - up. Blaise was only concerned with his own foiled attempts at getting Draco where he wanted him. Which was back under Blaise's thumb.
Questions to Crabbe and Goyle had provided Blaise with some rather vague if useful answers - it seemed that Draco had been experimenting with Polyjuice Potion and spent a great deal of time in the Room of Requirement. Blaise snickered to himself as he imagined Draco ordering his two henchmen to take Polyjuice for the satisfaction of his own needs. After all, what other reason could there be? They were teenage boys, for heavens sake, and fuck, thought Blaise, teenage boys had needs. He had needs. And, by god, he was going to have those needs satisfied.
Blaise was not above using his position in the Slug Club to taunt Draco, knowing full well that the blond felt his exclusion from the group to be entirely unjustified. He knew that Draco wanted very much to be a part of the group and their little meetings, and while the meetings frequently bored Blaise into something akin to a stupor, he took a great deal of pleasure out of teasing and tormenting the blond with exaggerated stories about the goings on within the Slug Club. He told Draco about the wonderful Absinthe that Professor Slughorn provided them, laughed about how the Professor would nod and wink and smile, implying that his group of favourites were being favoured with a special treat and that it was their little secret. He told Draco about the various points of magic and potions that were discussed, how sometimes the Slug Club could be a meeting of minds, (although in truth, the only meeting of minds that went on was the meeting of minds in boredom induced dozing), and how they all talked about things that would never be discussed in class. He knew that this was something that rankled deeply with Draco, from the set of the other teen's shoulders to the way his mouth became a hard, thin line. It made Blaise smirk to himself. How like a Malfoy to want knowledge for power's sake.
And how like Blaise to use that for his own ends.
He beguiled Draco, not because he took any pleasure out of doing so, but because it had become a matter of honour to him now. Draco was his, after all; well, until Blaise got bored with him. Blaise was the one that called the shots, not Draco. Draco was not the one who said when their little affair or whatever it was should end, no. That was Blaise and Blaise alone. Blaise would make sure that Draco knew exactly where he stood, before satisfying their urges, and then, eventually, setting Draco aside. After all, it was an uncertain world, and the times in which they lived were perilous. Foolish to shackle oneself to one person in such situations.
Blaise continued to tempt and taunt Draco with his exaggerated tales of the knowledge Slughorn imparted to his club, and Draco was not on good enough terms with other members of the Slug Club to check that what Blaise said was the truth. Draco grew more and more reliant on Blaise, once again crawling into Blaise's bed at night, lightly nipping at the soft skin of the curve of neck and shoulder as Blaise stroked his hair and told Draco tales of the things he so wanted to hear. Blaise purred beneath Draco's tongue and hands, growled as those sharp, white teeth nipped his skin, and Draco whimpered softly as Blaise, between noises of pleasure, filled his mind with fantastic images of the knowledge that was being denied him.
Blaise talked and Draco nibbled and licked and caressed, and each got something out of the other. Only Blaise knew that what Draco was getting was false, a lie. He supposed that he should feel guilty about that, but he never did. Even if it was a lie, Draco was still having his needs satisfied, and Blaise was having his own satisfied, so as far as he was concerned, it was an agreeable and equable arrangement.
The days went by and talk of Voldemort and his war grew louder and filled the pages of the Wizarding press. Blaise was as concerned as he should be - he didn't want to lose his lifestyle; after all, he was a pureblood and so therefore Voldemort wouldn't consider him an enemy. And if he and his mother played it right, they could come out of the war on top. Choosing either side was unnecessary; neutrality cost nothing and would be more satisfactory. He tried to explain this to Draco, but Draco just shook his head, blond hair falling into his face as he said in a voice full of desperation, "I can't, Blaise, I can't!"
Can't what, though. Blaise considered asking but then shrugged, and pulled Draco to him, kissing him hard, fingers sliding beneath clothing. It took a moment, but Draco kissed him back and Blaise bit down on the blond's lower lip, tasting the hot metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Draco was pliant and warm in his arms, and Blaise kissed him thoroughly, with all the skill he could muster, until Draco was quivering and pleading, panting and whimpering, begging for more.
Something was going on with Draco, Blaise knew, but what it was remained a mystery. He didn't tell Draco any more tales about the Slug Club and Draco didn't ask. Each night, Draco would slip into Blaise's bed, and where before, they had talked, now there was silence. Draco clung to Blaise and Blaise began to feel the first stirrings of disgust.
Looking at Draco one day - really looking at him -Blaise felt repugnance rise within himself. The beauty that had so attracted him had diminished, and all that was left was a pale shell. The fire that had fuelled Draco was gone and what was left was a fearful boy, a child. Blaise felt no desire and no lust for Draco now and he knew that their time together was over. He felt only pity and contempt, and that night, when Draco slipped into Blaise's bed, Blaise pushed him away.
"It's over," he said simply and Draco stiffened beside him. "It's just not going to work out, Draco." Blaise rolled onto his side, back towards the other boy, and sighed quietly as he felt the dip in the mattress as Draco slipped out of his bed.
Two days later, Dumbledore was dead and Draco gone, vanished with Snape. Blaise stared at the empty bed beside his own in the dorm and wondered idly what it was that had driven Draco to such desperation. The school was in an uproar and Blaise shook his head and sighed. "It really is over," he said to the empty bed. "We weren't meant to be."
By: shh...it's a secret
For: itsbeenvery.
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Blaise.
Rating: R.
Summary: Draco is conflicted and Blaise doesn't care.
Word count: 1495.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta. Usual disclaimers apply. Hope you like this, itsbeenvery. For hpslashnotsmut 2007.
Draco was tired, and it showed. Once upon a time, he had been the picture perfect Slytherin: not a hair out of place, immaculately attired, attitude that of the sneering pureblood aristocrat. Now, well into sixth year, he had dark shadows under his eyes and his robes were rumpled, his expression one of worry and fear. His words, which could still cut people's feelings like a knife, were tinged with over-confidence. Blaise, intelligent, pureblooded and rather self indulgent, was aware that his once eager and active bed partner was now too preoccupied to deal with anything other than himself. In short, Draco's selfishness had reached new levels, which meant that others did not factor into his existence whatsoever. This meant that Blaise's own needs were being neglected.
For a while, it didn't really bother Blaise; after all, he could get what he wanted from anyone he chose. A careful word here, a flirtatious look there, and Blaise knew that his good looks and charm would practically guarantee him a night or two with whichever partner interested him at the time. But the lack of Draco was beginning to annoy him. They had, after all, spent a great deal of time together, and really, Blaise muttered to himself, too much time, energy and training had gone into making Draco a suitable partner who didn't need guidance as to what Blaise liked for Blaise to simply let him go.
He didn't really care about whatever it was that bothered Draco; didn't care about the causes of those dark shadows under the blond's silvery eyes. He didn't really worry about the fact that Draco's usually impeccable dress sense had descended from fastidiously neat and tidy into rumpled and messy. He didn't care that at night, Draco's nightmares woke him - and the rest of the boy's dorm - up. Blaise was only concerned with his own foiled attempts at getting Draco where he wanted him. Which was back under Blaise's thumb.
Questions to Crabbe and Goyle had provided Blaise with some rather vague if useful answers - it seemed that Draco had been experimenting with Polyjuice Potion and spent a great deal of time in the Room of Requirement. Blaise snickered to himself as he imagined Draco ordering his two henchmen to take Polyjuice for the satisfaction of his own needs. After all, what other reason could there be? They were teenage boys, for heavens sake, and fuck, thought Blaise, teenage boys had needs. He had needs. And, by god, he was going to have those needs satisfied.
Blaise was not above using his position in the Slug Club to taunt Draco, knowing full well that the blond felt his exclusion from the group to be entirely unjustified. He knew that Draco wanted very much to be a part of the group and their little meetings, and while the meetings frequently bored Blaise into something akin to a stupor, he took a great deal of pleasure out of teasing and tormenting the blond with exaggerated stories about the goings on within the Slug Club. He told Draco about the wonderful Absinthe that Professor Slughorn provided them, laughed about how the Professor would nod and wink and smile, implying that his group of favourites were being favoured with a special treat and that it was their little secret. He told Draco about the various points of magic and potions that were discussed, how sometimes the Slug Club could be a meeting of minds, (although in truth, the only meeting of minds that went on was the meeting of minds in boredom induced dozing), and how they all talked about things that would never be discussed in class. He knew that this was something that rankled deeply with Draco, from the set of the other teen's shoulders to the way his mouth became a hard, thin line. It made Blaise smirk to himself. How like a Malfoy to want knowledge for power's sake.
And how like Blaise to use that for his own ends.
He beguiled Draco, not because he took any pleasure out of doing so, but because it had become a matter of honour to him now. Draco was his, after all; well, until Blaise got bored with him. Blaise was the one that called the shots, not Draco. Draco was not the one who said when their little affair or whatever it was should end, no. That was Blaise and Blaise alone. Blaise would make sure that Draco knew exactly where he stood, before satisfying their urges, and then, eventually, setting Draco aside. After all, it was an uncertain world, and the times in which they lived were perilous. Foolish to shackle oneself to one person in such situations.
Blaise continued to tempt and taunt Draco with his exaggerated tales of the knowledge Slughorn imparted to his club, and Draco was not on good enough terms with other members of the Slug Club to check that what Blaise said was the truth. Draco grew more and more reliant on Blaise, once again crawling into Blaise's bed at night, lightly nipping at the soft skin of the curve of neck and shoulder as Blaise stroked his hair and told Draco tales of the things he so wanted to hear. Blaise purred beneath Draco's tongue and hands, growled as those sharp, white teeth nipped his skin, and Draco whimpered softly as Blaise, between noises of pleasure, filled his mind with fantastic images of the knowledge that was being denied him.
Blaise talked and Draco nibbled and licked and caressed, and each got something out of the other. Only Blaise knew that what Draco was getting was false, a lie. He supposed that he should feel guilty about that, but he never did. Even if it was a lie, Draco was still having his needs satisfied, and Blaise was having his own satisfied, so as far as he was concerned, it was an agreeable and equable arrangement.
The days went by and talk of Voldemort and his war grew louder and filled the pages of the Wizarding press. Blaise was as concerned as he should be - he didn't want to lose his lifestyle; after all, he was a pureblood and so therefore Voldemort wouldn't consider him an enemy. And if he and his mother played it right, they could come out of the war on top. Choosing either side was unnecessary; neutrality cost nothing and would be more satisfactory. He tried to explain this to Draco, but Draco just shook his head, blond hair falling into his face as he said in a voice full of desperation, "I can't, Blaise, I can't!"
Can't what, though. Blaise considered asking but then shrugged, and pulled Draco to him, kissing him hard, fingers sliding beneath clothing. It took a moment, but Draco kissed him back and Blaise bit down on the blond's lower lip, tasting the hot metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Draco was pliant and warm in his arms, and Blaise kissed him thoroughly, with all the skill he could muster, until Draco was quivering and pleading, panting and whimpering, begging for more.
Something was going on with Draco, Blaise knew, but what it was remained a mystery. He didn't tell Draco any more tales about the Slug Club and Draco didn't ask. Each night, Draco would slip into Blaise's bed, and where before, they had talked, now there was silence. Draco clung to Blaise and Blaise began to feel the first stirrings of disgust.
Looking at Draco one day - really looking at him -Blaise felt repugnance rise within himself. The beauty that had so attracted him had diminished, and all that was left was a pale shell. The fire that had fuelled Draco was gone and what was left was a fearful boy, a child. Blaise felt no desire and no lust for Draco now and he knew that their time together was over. He felt only pity and contempt, and that night, when Draco slipped into Blaise's bed, Blaise pushed him away.
"It's over," he said simply and Draco stiffened beside him. "It's just not going to work out, Draco." Blaise rolled onto his side, back towards the other boy, and sighed quietly as he felt the dip in the mattress as Draco slipped out of his bed.
Two days later, Dumbledore was dead and Draco gone, vanished with Snape. Blaise stared at the empty bed beside his own in the dorm and wondered idly what it was that had driven Draco to such desperation. The school was in an uproar and Blaise shook his head and sighed. "It really is over," he said to the empty bed. "We weren't meant to be."