Fic: Burn [R] (Draco/Pansy)
Title: Burn
Pairing: Draco/Pansy
Rating: R for sexual situations
Warnings: Angst
Summary: She hates him for knowing, for always knowing what her weaknesses are, just as she hates herself for never escaping his grasp.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR.
Note: I have a final I should be studying for, but this little ficlet just wouldn't leave me alone. It's completely unbetaed so I apologize for mistakes. There might be a sequel of sorts, or there might not be - I'm not sure. Reviews will affect my decision, and are MUCH appreciated.
Words: 1,226
Burn
He is possessive, selfish and domineering. At first she’d been attracted to him because of these qualities, which were so similar to her own. Yet, now that she is entrapped in his subtle web, she finds him suffocating and rather crude despite his refined exterior. If it weren’t for his money and the undeniable luxury that her future marriage with him will afford her, she would have hexed him long ago and never looked at him again.
Yet she is his plaything now, for he knows of her family’s lack of title and dwindling resources. She hates him for knowing, for always knowing what her weaknesses are, just as she hates herself for never escaping his grasp. Like the true Slytherin he is, he uses his knowledge to twist her to his will until she feels like a first-year, second-guessing herself and those around her.
What truly burns her is the undeniable fact that she would have done the same in his position.
Sighing in resignation, she glares at the clock on the bedside table as though accusing its periodic ticks of drowning her out. He is late once again. She wonders if he’ll still insist on taking her, even though he is evidently taking his pleasure from some other girl in a hallway in this vast castle. She knows this because she was once one of those girls, seduced in the twilight by Draco Malfoy in an empty, dusty corridor. When he’d pushed her against the rough wall, she’d flattered herself with the thought that she’d given her innocence to the one boy who desired it, desired her. It was only later, after he’d insinuated himself into her mind and life so that she was completely at his mercy that she realized the truth.
As though aware that her thoughts are bent on him, he appears at the door and stares at her in silence. The other boys in the dormitory cleared out hours ago, knowing that Draco wanted his privacy tonight. Even Zabini respected Draco’s wishes, for Draco has twisted them all to his will.
And though she might hate him for what he does to her, she cannot deny that he is beautiful. His blond hair, grey slacks and jumper, and the small insignia on his left breast conceal a body made beautiful from Quidditch. His sleeves are rolled up his arm; just far enough to free his wrists yet hide the Dark Mark marring the skin on his left arm. His grey eyes are chips of slate and just as hard as he spares her a cursory, hot gaze. She melts in the knowledge that he still wants her, her conscience be damned.
She watches as he closes the door and moves to the bedside table, casually unfastening his watch and emptying his pockets. She hates herself for memorizing this routine, for growing so accustomed to it that she is waiting patiently for him, rearranging herself so that her naked body presents a more tempting sight under his bedclothes.
He pulls his jumper over his head, allowing the tails of his oxford shirt beneath to ride up with it so that a trail of soft blond hair down his stomach is revealed. She shivers at the sight, as though a sudden breeze has swept across her body, leaving her feverish and lightheaded. When he undoes his slacks and carelessly tosses them in a corner, she feels her nipples harden with trembling anticipation.
She fists her hands at her sides, mentally vowing to ignore her body’s reaction to him. This time, she won’t allow herself to succumb to his touch, to give him the satisfaction of owning her completely. She will fight him, fight for her freedom and for respect and love, if she can. And if he won’t declare his love for her, she will leave his bed and this room without a second glance.
He is now dressed in his boxers as he whispers a quiet Nox and joins her beneath the sheets. She allows herself to hope that he is asleep when he doesn’t move for a few minutes. But her illusions are dashed when he turns to his side to face her. She feels his tangible gaze on her face as she stares up at the canopy above her, but resolutely ignores him.
She knows what comes next. He will tangle his fingers tightly in her short, dark hair and force her lips to his. He will kiss her bruisingly, bitingly, until her whimpers of pain become moans of pleasure. Once he is satisfied that she is sufficiently pliant in his arms, he will mark her on her neck with a single bite. Then he will move over her, kissing her as he thrusts into her as quickly and as hard as he can.
Steeling her nerves, she awaits the painful tug in her hair from his long, aristocratic fingers. Instead, he kisses her softly on her forehead, causing her to jump in shock.
In a soothing manner, he continues to pepper her face with small, chaste kisses. She hates these kisses, for they are a mockery of love and desire. With every kiss planted on her face, she burns inside with shame and hatred. It scares her how violently her soul reacts to such innocence, but she cannot help it.
Yet he doesn’t stop his kisses; instead, he begins trailing his fingers across her skin as well. She shivers in horror as those long digits follow the lines of her chin and neck, continuing to her collarbones and the soft skin above her breasts.
She tries her best to deny her body’s reaction to him, but she cannot hold out for long against his patient onslaught. With a choked sob, she releases her rigid hold on her body and arches towards him as his fingers retrace the curve of her neck.
He stops immediately when he detects her response, resting his fingers on her throat as he leans on the bed with his elbow, looking down on her. She shuts her eyes, not wanting to face him with her weakness laid bare in her brown eyes.
“Pansy,” he whispers, and her eyes snap open to look up at him, her entire body alert at this sound.
He has never acknowledged her in this way, and a small smile settles on her face when she realizes that he might express his feelings to her.
She gazes up into his cold face, which is barely illuminated by the weak moonlight from a nearby window. No matter how weak the light, she can see the triumphant look in his eyes as he bends down to kiss her forcefully. The momentary hope that sprang in her heart is ruined by the knowledge that he is merely reinforcing his hold over her. She is left hating herself for falling for such a ruse.
The taste of his lips on hers is turned to ash, and her body becomes limp with disappointment.
But when he tightens his fingers in her hair and kisses her harder, and when her body reacts in its familiar ways, she takes small comfort in the fact that he said her name. For no matter how he might look elsewhere for his pleasure, it is only she that he desires to break. And she will only ever burn for him.
Finite Incantatem
A/N: Inspired by Dishwalla's "Candleburn."
On Vineland past the candle shrine that burns on every night
For someone
She lets herself go like an angel in the snow
She lies down on her back
Down on her back she goes
On Vineland past the candle shrine that melts into the street design
She waits for someone
Tonight she’ll give herself away
She’ll break apart all by herself
So easy how we come undone
She pulls me in and strips me down
She pulls me in and turns me out
She pulls me in and strips me down to the ground
Take me over when I’m gone
Take me over and make me strong
Take me over when I’m gone
Will they burn for me?
Pairing: Draco/Pansy
Rating: R for sexual situations
Warnings: Angst
Summary: She hates him for knowing, for always knowing what her weaknesses are, just as she hates herself for never escaping his grasp.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR.
Note: I have a final I should be studying for, but this little ficlet just wouldn't leave me alone. It's completely unbetaed so I apologize for mistakes. There might be a sequel of sorts, or there might not be - I'm not sure. Reviews will affect my decision, and are MUCH appreciated.
Words: 1,226
Burn
He is possessive, selfish and domineering. At first she’d been attracted to him because of these qualities, which were so similar to her own. Yet, now that she is entrapped in his subtle web, she finds him suffocating and rather crude despite his refined exterior. If it weren’t for his money and the undeniable luxury that her future marriage with him will afford her, she would have hexed him long ago and never looked at him again.
Yet she is his plaything now, for he knows of her family’s lack of title and dwindling resources. She hates him for knowing, for always knowing what her weaknesses are, just as she hates herself for never escaping his grasp. Like the true Slytherin he is, he uses his knowledge to twist her to his will until she feels like a first-year, second-guessing herself and those around her.
What truly burns her is the undeniable fact that she would have done the same in his position.
Sighing in resignation, she glares at the clock on the bedside table as though accusing its periodic ticks of drowning her out. He is late once again. She wonders if he’ll still insist on taking her, even though he is evidently taking his pleasure from some other girl in a hallway in this vast castle. She knows this because she was once one of those girls, seduced in the twilight by Draco Malfoy in an empty, dusty corridor. When he’d pushed her against the rough wall, she’d flattered herself with the thought that she’d given her innocence to the one boy who desired it, desired her. It was only later, after he’d insinuated himself into her mind and life so that she was completely at his mercy that she realized the truth.
As though aware that her thoughts are bent on him, he appears at the door and stares at her in silence. The other boys in the dormitory cleared out hours ago, knowing that Draco wanted his privacy tonight. Even Zabini respected Draco’s wishes, for Draco has twisted them all to his will.
And though she might hate him for what he does to her, she cannot deny that he is beautiful. His blond hair, grey slacks and jumper, and the small insignia on his left breast conceal a body made beautiful from Quidditch. His sleeves are rolled up his arm; just far enough to free his wrists yet hide the Dark Mark marring the skin on his left arm. His grey eyes are chips of slate and just as hard as he spares her a cursory, hot gaze. She melts in the knowledge that he still wants her, her conscience be damned.
She watches as he closes the door and moves to the bedside table, casually unfastening his watch and emptying his pockets. She hates herself for memorizing this routine, for growing so accustomed to it that she is waiting patiently for him, rearranging herself so that her naked body presents a more tempting sight under his bedclothes.
He pulls his jumper over his head, allowing the tails of his oxford shirt beneath to ride up with it so that a trail of soft blond hair down his stomach is revealed. She shivers at the sight, as though a sudden breeze has swept across her body, leaving her feverish and lightheaded. When he undoes his slacks and carelessly tosses them in a corner, she feels her nipples harden with trembling anticipation.
She fists her hands at her sides, mentally vowing to ignore her body’s reaction to him. This time, she won’t allow herself to succumb to his touch, to give him the satisfaction of owning her completely. She will fight him, fight for her freedom and for respect and love, if she can. And if he won’t declare his love for her, she will leave his bed and this room without a second glance.
He is now dressed in his boxers as he whispers a quiet Nox and joins her beneath the sheets. She allows herself to hope that he is asleep when he doesn’t move for a few minutes. But her illusions are dashed when he turns to his side to face her. She feels his tangible gaze on her face as she stares up at the canopy above her, but resolutely ignores him.
She knows what comes next. He will tangle his fingers tightly in her short, dark hair and force her lips to his. He will kiss her bruisingly, bitingly, until her whimpers of pain become moans of pleasure. Once he is satisfied that she is sufficiently pliant in his arms, he will mark her on her neck with a single bite. Then he will move over her, kissing her as he thrusts into her as quickly and as hard as he can.
Steeling her nerves, she awaits the painful tug in her hair from his long, aristocratic fingers. Instead, he kisses her softly on her forehead, causing her to jump in shock.
In a soothing manner, he continues to pepper her face with small, chaste kisses. She hates these kisses, for they are a mockery of love and desire. With every kiss planted on her face, she burns inside with shame and hatred. It scares her how violently her soul reacts to such innocence, but she cannot help it.
Yet he doesn’t stop his kisses; instead, he begins trailing his fingers across her skin as well. She shivers in horror as those long digits follow the lines of her chin and neck, continuing to her collarbones and the soft skin above her breasts.
She tries her best to deny her body’s reaction to him, but she cannot hold out for long against his patient onslaught. With a choked sob, she releases her rigid hold on her body and arches towards him as his fingers retrace the curve of her neck.
He stops immediately when he detects her response, resting his fingers on her throat as he leans on the bed with his elbow, looking down on her. She shuts her eyes, not wanting to face him with her weakness laid bare in her brown eyes.
“Pansy,” he whispers, and her eyes snap open to look up at him, her entire body alert at this sound.
He has never acknowledged her in this way, and a small smile settles on her face when she realizes that he might express his feelings to her.
She gazes up into his cold face, which is barely illuminated by the weak moonlight from a nearby window. No matter how weak the light, she can see the triumphant look in his eyes as he bends down to kiss her forcefully. The momentary hope that sprang in her heart is ruined by the knowledge that he is merely reinforcing his hold over her. She is left hating herself for falling for such a ruse.
The taste of his lips on hers is turned to ash, and her body becomes limp with disappointment.
But when he tightens his fingers in her hair and kisses her harder, and when her body reacts in its familiar ways, she takes small comfort in the fact that he said her name. For no matter how he might look elsewhere for his pleasure, it is only she that he desires to break. And she will only ever burn for him.
Finite Incantatem
A/N: Inspired by Dishwalla's "Candleburn."
On Vineland past the candle shrine that burns on every night
For someone
She lets herself go like an angel in the snow
She lies down on her back
Down on her back she goes
On Vineland past the candle shrine that melts into the street design
She waits for someone
Tonight she’ll give herself away
She’ll break apart all by herself
So easy how we come undone
She pulls me in and strips me down
She pulls me in and turns me out
She pulls me in and strips me down to the ground
Take me over when I’m gone
Take me over and make me strong
Take me over when I’m gone
Will they burn for me?