be a man (mysterious as the dark side of the moon)
so it was somebody's birthday and i have these fantastically terrible things to kind of gift her with -- seriously, they are terrible, i have no fucking idea what i was thinking, but i really did try and i'll, uh, i don't know.
first:
title: i will suck out your soul til there is nothing left
summary: He's bitter and he's jaded and hell, he never even got to kill anyone.
word count: ~1k
disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas herein are the property of JKR and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
notes: inspired very heavily by this photo by savagesnakes. and i do mean heavily. uh, what else? i've no idea, really. for imprint-of-doe because she is like, better than shang and could even beat mulan in a fight of awesome and baby, you can bet on it.
The thing about Azkaban is that, even though they've done away with all the Dementors, they're still there, buried in the walls, forever draining happiness.
People say he's lucky, lucky because he only got two years instead of the desired five. The Ministry like to say that two was their wanted amount, but everyone knows that it's a lie; he only got the deal he did because he was fucking Harry Potter, and they weren't looking to piss him off more than they already had.
They'd angered him quite a bit.
Thinking that two years isn't long, but they should try it out. More than seven-hundred days straight, and there's never a break. Two visits a month, even though it was only supposed to be one, and there goes that benefit of having had Harry Potter's cock up your arse again.
He's bitter and he's jaded and fucking hell, he never even got to kill anyone.
-XY470-
He has ten months probation, and he's required to stay with Harry at Number 12. Apparently, they don't trust him at the Manor, because of the Dark magic (that they still haven't been able to prove is there) which makes him want to fucking laugh, because Grimmuald Place is just as Dark, if not more. It's because he'll be with Harry and they like to think that they know him so much more than they actually do.
It amuses him.
His father's still in, but his mother had never entered in the first place. She saved Harry Potter, you know, and she's a woman, so she could have never done much harm in the first place.
Draco wonders if they ever met his Aunt Bella.
He should really stop thinking about things like that. He's already lost quite a bit of it, it'd be a shame to lose what's left.
So he lets Harry lead him out the jail with a hand on his arm, and he holds his head, chin up, ignoring the press and their unwanted comments and scoffs at those that forever feel that it's their responsibility to tell Harry that he could do so much better than Death Eater scum.
He could, clearly, but he doesn't want to, obviously, so they should all fuck off. And die.
And when Rita Skeeter asks them for a statement, and Harry says, “Fuck you,” he just may smile.
-XY470-
The first thing he does when they gets inside Harry's house (and apparently his now, too) is take a shower. He takes a long shower, heat so high that it scorches his skin, reddens him all over, and he sobs out a laugh because he can see the dirt and grime washing away off his body.
Harry joins him, as he brutally scrubs his body, and he's fully clothed, and Draco wants to laugh and laugh and laugh, so he does, turning around and kissing Harry, hard. He laughs against his lips, and he sounds more than half-mad and desperate because his voice is hoarse and sore from misuse. Harry kisses with his eyes open, so Draco closes his and it is all types of wonderful.
And when he tells Harry, “I want to go outside,” they do, with but a towel slung around Draco’s hips and Harry's water-soaked clothing, and Draco squints up at the sun and he remembers what life smells like.
They spend at least half an hour out there, and plainly ignore the reporters standing across the street, staring at them and taking countless pictures. They don't matter, so Draco kneels down with his back to them and he's aware that half his arse is probably on display, yes, but he pays it no mind and picks up a small, lime-green snake slithering around.
Harry exasperatedly asks the serpent to not kill Draco, please, probably, so the tiny little mouth closes and the snake allows Draco to wind it around his wrist, examining.
He smiles.
-XY470-
When he gets inside, Draco takes the towel off and hangs it on the coat rack. Harry'd gone in a bit before him, and Draco finds him slouching on a couch next to the only floor-length window in the entire home, eyes closed.
Draco grabs a pack of cigarettes, walking over and straddling him, with a grace that speaks of total ease.
One of Harry's legs props up more while the other relaxes slightly, and it seems like the hand that moves to grip his hip, the side of his arse, is reflexive.
“Light me,” he says, taking a cig out and with a flick of Harry's wrist, it's lit.
“Those'll kill you, you know,” Harry says, opening his eyes and tapping his finger against his lip.
Draco pays him no mind, putting the stick in his mouth and inhaling deep, feeling his body relax just that bit more. He tilts his head back when he exhales, closing his eyes for a second and loving the smell of Harry and smoke and magic around him.
When he looks back down at Harry, he's staring in that way he has, stripping Draco down more than he already is and there's this slight glint of possessiveness to his eyes that makes Draco warm all over.
“I hate that they made you shave your hair,” Harry murmurs. “Your hair was so fucking gorgeous. But hell, how do you manage to still be so beautiful, Draco? And they marked you with that tattoo and I hate the fuckers so much that sometimes it burns and I want to hurt them, badly.”
He sighs roughly. Draco bites his lips, and thinks he maybe loves him.
“Are you planning on walking around naked all day?” Harry asks in an attempt to lighten the mood, but his eyes are still too deep and fierce.
“That's the plan, essentially.” He tries to smirk, but it's a hollow version of his old ones, so he gives up.
The hand resting on his hip tightens.
first:
title: i will suck out your soul til there is nothing left
summary: He's bitter and he's jaded and hell, he never even got to kill anyone.
word count: ~1k
disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas herein are the property of JKR and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
notes: inspired very heavily by this photo by savagesnakes. and i do mean heavily. uh, what else? i've no idea, really. for imprint-of-doe because she is like, better than shang and could even beat mulan in a fight of awesome and baby, you can bet on it.
The thing about Azkaban is that, even though they've done away with all the Dementors, they're still there, buried in the walls, forever draining happiness.
People say he's lucky, lucky because he only got two years instead of the desired five. The Ministry like to say that two was their wanted amount, but everyone knows that it's a lie; he only got the deal he did because he was fucking Harry Potter, and they weren't looking to piss him off more than they already had.
They'd angered him quite a bit.
Thinking that two years isn't long, but they should try it out. More than seven-hundred days straight, and there's never a break. Two visits a month, even though it was only supposed to be one, and there goes that benefit of having had Harry Potter's cock up your arse again.
He's bitter and he's jaded and fucking hell, he never even got to kill anyone.
-XY470-
He has ten months probation, and he's required to stay with Harry at Number 12. Apparently, they don't trust him at the Manor, because of the Dark magic (that they still haven't been able to prove is there) which makes him want to fucking laugh, because Grimmuald Place is just as Dark, if not more. It's because he'll be with Harry and they like to think that they know him so much more than they actually do.
It amuses him.
His father's still in, but his mother had never entered in the first place. She saved Harry Potter, you know, and she's a woman, so she could have never done much harm in the first place.
Draco wonders if they ever met his Aunt Bella.
He should really stop thinking about things like that. He's already lost quite a bit of it, it'd be a shame to lose what's left.
So he lets Harry lead him out the jail with a hand on his arm, and he holds his head, chin up, ignoring the press and their unwanted comments and scoffs at those that forever feel that it's their responsibility to tell Harry that he could do so much better than Death Eater scum.
He could, clearly, but he doesn't want to, obviously, so they should all fuck off. And die.
And when Rita Skeeter asks them for a statement, and Harry says, “Fuck you,” he just may smile.
-XY470-
The first thing he does when they gets inside Harry's house (and apparently his now, too) is take a shower. He takes a long shower, heat so high that it scorches his skin, reddens him all over, and he sobs out a laugh because he can see the dirt and grime washing away off his body.
Harry joins him, as he brutally scrubs his body, and he's fully clothed, and Draco wants to laugh and laugh and laugh, so he does, turning around and kissing Harry, hard. He laughs against his lips, and he sounds more than half-mad and desperate because his voice is hoarse and sore from misuse. Harry kisses with his eyes open, so Draco closes his and it is all types of wonderful.
And when he tells Harry, “I want to go outside,” they do, with but a towel slung around Draco’s hips and Harry's water-soaked clothing, and Draco squints up at the sun and he remembers what life smells like.
They spend at least half an hour out there, and plainly ignore the reporters standing across the street, staring at them and taking countless pictures. They don't matter, so Draco kneels down with his back to them and he's aware that half his arse is probably on display, yes, but he pays it no mind and picks up a small, lime-green snake slithering around.
Harry exasperatedly asks the serpent to not kill Draco, please, probably, so the tiny little mouth closes and the snake allows Draco to wind it around his wrist, examining.
He smiles.
-XY470-
When he gets inside, Draco takes the towel off and hangs it on the coat rack. Harry'd gone in a bit before him, and Draco finds him slouching on a couch next to the only floor-length window in the entire home, eyes closed.
Draco grabs a pack of cigarettes, walking over and straddling him, with a grace that speaks of total ease.
One of Harry's legs props up more while the other relaxes slightly, and it seems like the hand that moves to grip his hip, the side of his arse, is reflexive.
“Light me,” he says, taking a cig out and with a flick of Harry's wrist, it's lit.
“Those'll kill you, you know,” Harry says, opening his eyes and tapping his finger against his lip.
Draco pays him no mind, putting the stick in his mouth and inhaling deep, feeling his body relax just that bit more. He tilts his head back when he exhales, closing his eyes for a second and loving the smell of Harry and smoke and magic around him.
When he looks back down at Harry, he's staring in that way he has, stripping Draco down more than he already is and there's this slight glint of possessiveness to his eyes that makes Draco warm all over.
“I hate that they made you shave your hair,” Harry murmurs. “Your hair was so fucking gorgeous. But hell, how do you manage to still be so beautiful, Draco? And they marked you with that tattoo and I hate the fuckers so much that sometimes it burns and I want to hurt them, badly.”
He sighs roughly. Draco bites his lips, and thinks he maybe loves him.
“Are you planning on walking around naked all day?” Harry asks in an attempt to lighten the mood, but his eyes are still too deep and fierce.
“That's the plan, essentially.” He tries to smirk, but it's a hollow version of his old ones, so he gives up.
The hand resting on his hip tightens.