Fic: We Call Them Gods (H/D, R)
So, um. I really really liked the last issue of Books of Magick: Life During Wartime. There was more slash, and lookit! I caught a bunny! And it's not my porn bunny which I could've at least dedicated to Sara or Aspen (Happy Birthday, btw! eek!); this one just took me by surprise, and poof! Don't you love it when that happens? Also, I uh, probably meant this to be BoM fanfic except that would take actual mental effort.
Um. This is really odd, and dark, and... um. Well, I'd say it's a darker Harry than I've written recently, but it's really not. I'm kind of pleased with myself (first thing I've finished in ages! w00t! I rule, clearly), though I suspect this makes little enough sense to anyone but me. Alas. Let this be a lesson: this is what happens when you listen to Live and David Bowie back to back after reading messed up comics.
Disclaimer: Universe borrowed from JK Rowling with a sprinkling of Books of Magick. I have a feeling Neil would understand, though.
A/N: heavily inspired by Books of Magick: Life During Wartime. Pet the bunny! Thanks to Live's 'Freaks' for the title. Kind of. Might as well listen to it anyway, it's a great song. Also, I think this fic is pretty much proof I haven't said everything I could possibly say about H/D. Isn't it cool?
- We Call Them Gods -
Malfoy's voice was candy wasps-- annoying and delicious. Lord Potter lounged by a thick oak next to the bloody field, drinking wine and satyr blood. He'd said no one could find them here, but the truth was he was tired of summer, and all the ice was Malfoy's own magic bleeding through. Bare hours ago, he'd fought tooth and nails for his Master, not like a proper Pureblood wizard at all, but even now, Potter doubted. Who could look into those too-grey eyes and not doubt?
Potter inhaled the scent of winter in the midst of June and shivered; Malfoy's pink nipples were stiff from cold, but currently everything had a soft fuzzy edge around it. Malfoy's mouth looked purplish-pink, which Potter found rather fascinating.
"There's no way out," Malfoy said, his mouth moving slower than the sound of his words. Potter cocked his head to the side, seemingly transfixed. "We have to assume it's a trap, but we have to check it out. I know we both need a rest after-- all that-- Oh hell, Potter. You know there's no time."
"Mmmm...." Potter pointed a finger, and a stray cabbage white butterfly turned a brilliant orange. Potter laughed like a child, and Malfoy cringed. "Have you ever seen such a pretty butterfly in winter? No?"
"My Lord," he whispered, a mockery of sweet obedience. That's what Potter liked about him. The mockery, and the obedience; it was perfect, in an abstract sort of way. It was beautiful the way his pretty lieutenant went shirtless in battles because Lord Potter asked him to, for instance. He'd go naked, too, but that was Potter's alone to see, and might prove a bit distracting while cursing the demons which remained since most of the Dark wizards turned tail.
Malfoy's head was bowed ever so slightly, but his mouth was thin with dissent, and Potter smiled widely. So few pleasures these days, he thought, enjoying the silvery-purple halo effect around that blond head. "Say what you like, old friend," he chuckled. "What do you propose I do? "
"I propose you save your real bloody friends--" Potter raised an eyebrow. "My Lord. The renegades--"
"You were born to be a minion, you know that? A cheeky minion. Your father bred you well. So loyal."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he blushed with long-betrayed hate, standing abruptly. "You're not yourself, Potter," he hissed. "So I'll disregard this once if--" Potter laughed, throwing his head back against the bark and exposing his throat. Malfoy growled, knowing it was all a lie and completely unable to do a thing about it or about his helpless reaction. Potter always did things his own bloody way, on his own sweet time. "Don't you fucking care about anything? Who do you think you're fooling with this charade, Lord Potter?"
"Charade?" Potter smiled like the predator he pretended he wasn't. Malfoy knew; it was a prickly-bitter prize. "Who said anything about a charade? Although that might be a fun game. Charades. Gee, Malfoy, I haven't played that in ages." His eyes narrowed, and he whipped out his wand, tapping it gently on Malfoy's shoulder. "What do you say to a bit of sport, eh? I think I'm bored."
Liar, Malfoy thought. When did you become such a liar? Or were you always like this? "You know perfectly well what I say, My Lord," he sneered.
"Whine, whine, whine, that's what you say," Potter said, licking his lips. In contrast to his words, there was only satisfaction in his eyes.
"Why don't you just stomp on my toes and rip out my tonsils and be done with it?"
"Wouldn't be any fun that way, now would it," Potter slurred. Malfoy knew, with near-crystal clarity, that Potter was playing him, but he couldn't be utterly certain, and it was that which gave Potter such power. It would almost have been impressive if it didn't drive Malfoy homicidal. He couldn't predict Potter; that was the real problem, he thought.
"The normal rules never did apply to you, did they?" he said softly.
"I'm tired, Malfoy. I'm tired and you're ruining my buzz. That's the bottom line." Potter frowned. "And you're blocking my light, by the way."
"You know what? To hell with this. Looks like I have to get the job done because my so-called Lord and Master, God of the fucking universe, is too pitiful to get off his arse."
Potter laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "Oh, this is rich." Malfoy's eye twitched and Potter was overcome with the urge to lick it; he pushed into Malfoy's mind instead, tickling, his body tensing as Malfoy resisted. Back in Hogwarts, Snape was rather put out that his protege was more crap at Legilimency than Potter had been. "The so-called snake in the Garden telling me to get the job done," Potter said, eyes burning with curse-light intensity into Malfoy's own. "What're you gonna do, Malfoy? Call upon dear old dead Daddy's spirit to help you rescue a bunch of poor lost Gryffindors?"
Malfoy gasped over and over, the heels of his palms digging into his temples as vertigo shook him. "Stop-- oh God-- stop it--"
He grinned and knocked Malfoy to the ground, legs and arms atangle. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Potter said conversationally, their faces inches apart.
Malfoy spat in his face. Saying 'no' would only play into Potter's hand, and besides, he was sick of lying. There were more important things to be done. "You're a pathetic excuse for a fucking fearless leader, Potter," he hissed, head still pounding viciously. He wouldn't be surprised if Potter's little stunts earned him migraines for the rest of his stupid existence.
Potter grinned maniacally and knocked their foreheads together, nails digging into Malfoy's shoulders. Moments later, Malfoy had a black eye and Potter was panting, but Malfoy's glare didn't lessen. "This is all your fault," Potter said almost petulantly. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't interfered in the first place. I wouldn't have had to kill anyone. Well, except for him."
"Blaming others as usual, I see." Malfoy wheezed, head still spinning and stomach churning after Potter's withdrawal.
"And what have you been doing? You're here wasting time with me, aren't you? Shouldn't you be hunting down the renegades? Uncle Severus is probably at his limit by now, and you know how he needs you," Potter sneered. He was all too sober now, and Malfoy was far from sure this was any improvement. What was he doing here, anyway? Oh, right.
"Fuck you, Harry! Will you ever stop rubbing the stupid wizard's debt in my face?" Malfoy's face was twisted and his cheeks flushed, and Potter was hard instantly, just like back in school. It never changed, none of it. "When in hell did you become such a bloody coward?"
Potter breathed out noisily, thrusting a hand down between them to rub brutally at Malfoy's own hard-on. "And you're no better than me. You're in love with me, aren't you?" Potter whispered.
Malfoy swallowed bile, controlling himself with a gigantic act of will. "Of course I'm not better, you twit!" Malfoy tried to twist away, but naturally it was hopeless. "You're the fucking hero around here, or have you forgotten that, too?"
His hand stilled, and Potter's stare grew icy. "I'm nobody's hero, Draco, and if you want your head still on by morning you'll shut your mouth about it." His fist squeezed painfully tight around Malfoy's half-hard prick, teeth baring as Malfoy's eyes rolled in their sockets. "They don't need me," he said, nipping at Malfoy's earlobe absent-mindedly. "Not like you do."
Malfoy bucked against him but his voice was as smoothly harsh as ever; Malfoy was something else. Lying on a thin cover of snow over the fresh grass, splatters of enemy blood on his hands, he made Potter forget. He made it worth it.
"Boo-hoo, poor little Lord fucking Prince Savior," Malfoy spat prettily, writhing beneath him.
Potter's breath caught, and his head swam. Why were they arguing again? Oh yes. It was fun. "Sure saved you all right, didn't I? Or where would you be right now? Hmmm?" Potter licked a swath up the cut on Malfoy's cheek, making the other give a catlike hiss.
"I'd rather be Kissed than see you drunk on magic while your little Gryffindor friends get tortured," Malfoy said, which earned him a deeper bite. Potter licked at the blood running down Malfoy's neck with fierce relish, and for a moment Malfoy remembered why he was there. "B-bastard!"
"It's the way you like it, isn't it?" Potter asked philosophically. Something buzzed in his trouser pocket, and Potter started. "Wouldn't want me too prim and proper, would you now?"
"Want you-- to cut the shit," he panted.
"Pot, kettle," Potter smirked, and then there was an odd sort of musical ringing sound. "Oh! Gimme a sec," he mumbled, and fished out some sort of silvery Muggle appliance Draco had assumed was a lighter. He flipped it open, brought it to his ear and promptly scowled. "Agent Liberator," he said briskly. "Report." He nodded several times. "And Agent Cannon? Fuck. Fuck. All right, Roger. 'S all right, Her-- Liberator. I know what I'm doing. Over and out."
Malfoy goggled as Potter rose to his feet fluidly, patting himself down. "Well, looks like our fun is over," he said with a strange little smile.
"Fuck!" Draco barely refrained from going for an answering shiner on Potter's smug face. There was only so much Potter would tolerate, and they both knew the boundary by now. And he was left out of the loop again! Potter still didn't trust him, and that knowledge made Draco want to scream or slug Harry or just leave. But he knew he couldn't do any of those things, not anymore.
"Come along, Toto," Potter sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. He was barefoot on the grass which stretched out beyond their little island of ice. "We're off to see the Wizard. If I ask nicely, d'you think he'd share his toys?"
"Oh get a bloody grip!" Malfoy sighed, pocketing his wand and taking his place at Potter's back. "Who do you think you are?" he said, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Potter stopped for a moment, almost as if he had to think about it. "I'm the Tin Man," he said finally. "I guess that means you're the Wizard, huh?"
Malfoy shook his head. "Or maybe you're the Wicked Witch of the West," Potter grinned. "You reckon she just after the Tin Man's cock?"
As usual, he wasn't quite sure what Potter was getting at but he knew when he was being insulted. "You're drunk, My Lord," he said automatically, silently counting to fifty.
"Not this time," Potter said with his usual hotheaded conviction before he Disapparated, and Malfoy followed.
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Um. This is really odd, and dark, and... um. Well, I'd say it's a darker Harry than I've written recently, but it's really not. I'm kind of pleased with myself (first thing I've finished in ages! w00t! I rule, clearly), though I suspect this makes little enough sense to anyone but me. Alas. Let this be a lesson: this is what happens when you listen to Live and David Bowie back to back after reading messed up comics.
Disclaimer: Universe borrowed from JK Rowling with a sprinkling of Books of Magick. I have a feeling Neil would understand, though.
A/N: heavily inspired by Books of Magick: Life During Wartime. Pet the bunny! Thanks to Live's 'Freaks' for the title. Kind of. Might as well listen to it anyway, it's a great song. Also, I think this fic is pretty much proof I haven't said everything I could possibly say about H/D. Isn't it cool?
- We Call Them Gods -
Malfoy's voice was candy wasps-- annoying and delicious. Lord Potter lounged by a thick oak next to the bloody field, drinking wine and satyr blood. He'd said no one could find them here, but the truth was he was tired of summer, and all the ice was Malfoy's own magic bleeding through. Bare hours ago, he'd fought tooth and nails for his Master, not like a proper Pureblood wizard at all, but even now, Potter doubted. Who could look into those too-grey eyes and not doubt?
Potter inhaled the scent of winter in the midst of June and shivered; Malfoy's pink nipples were stiff from cold, but currently everything had a soft fuzzy edge around it. Malfoy's mouth looked purplish-pink, which Potter found rather fascinating.
"There's no way out," Malfoy said, his mouth moving slower than the sound of his words. Potter cocked his head to the side, seemingly transfixed. "We have to assume it's a trap, but we have to check it out. I know we both need a rest after-- all that-- Oh hell, Potter. You know there's no time."
"Mmmm...." Potter pointed a finger, and a stray cabbage white butterfly turned a brilliant orange. Potter laughed like a child, and Malfoy cringed. "Have you ever seen such a pretty butterfly in winter? No?"
"My Lord," he whispered, a mockery of sweet obedience. That's what Potter liked about him. The mockery, and the obedience; it was perfect, in an abstract sort of way. It was beautiful the way his pretty lieutenant went shirtless in battles because Lord Potter asked him to, for instance. He'd go naked, too, but that was Potter's alone to see, and might prove a bit distracting while cursing the demons which remained since most of the Dark wizards turned tail.
Malfoy's head was bowed ever so slightly, but his mouth was thin with dissent, and Potter smiled widely. So few pleasures these days, he thought, enjoying the silvery-purple halo effect around that blond head. "Say what you like, old friend," he chuckled. "What do you propose I do? "
"I propose you save your real bloody friends--" Potter raised an eyebrow. "My Lord. The renegades--"
"You were born to be a minion, you know that? A cheeky minion. Your father bred you well. So loyal."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he blushed with long-betrayed hate, standing abruptly. "You're not yourself, Potter," he hissed. "So I'll disregard this once if--" Potter laughed, throwing his head back against the bark and exposing his throat. Malfoy growled, knowing it was all a lie and completely unable to do a thing about it or about his helpless reaction. Potter always did things his own bloody way, on his own sweet time. "Don't you fucking care about anything? Who do you think you're fooling with this charade, Lord Potter?"
"Charade?" Potter smiled like the predator he pretended he wasn't. Malfoy knew; it was a prickly-bitter prize. "Who said anything about a charade? Although that might be a fun game. Charades. Gee, Malfoy, I haven't played that in ages." His eyes narrowed, and he whipped out his wand, tapping it gently on Malfoy's shoulder. "What do you say to a bit of sport, eh? I think I'm bored."
Liar, Malfoy thought. When did you become such a liar? Or were you always like this? "You know perfectly well what I say, My Lord," he sneered.
"Whine, whine, whine, that's what you say," Potter said, licking his lips. In contrast to his words, there was only satisfaction in his eyes.
"Why don't you just stomp on my toes and rip out my tonsils and be done with it?"
"Wouldn't be any fun that way, now would it," Potter slurred. Malfoy knew, with near-crystal clarity, that Potter was playing him, but he couldn't be utterly certain, and it was that which gave Potter such power. It would almost have been impressive if it didn't drive Malfoy homicidal. He couldn't predict Potter; that was the real problem, he thought.
"The normal rules never did apply to you, did they?" he said softly.
"I'm tired, Malfoy. I'm tired and you're ruining my buzz. That's the bottom line." Potter frowned. "And you're blocking my light, by the way."
"You know what? To hell with this. Looks like I have to get the job done because my so-called Lord and Master, God of the fucking universe, is too pitiful to get off his arse."
Potter laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "Oh, this is rich." Malfoy's eye twitched and Potter was overcome with the urge to lick it; he pushed into Malfoy's mind instead, tickling, his body tensing as Malfoy resisted. Back in Hogwarts, Snape was rather put out that his protege was more crap at Legilimency than Potter had been. "The so-called snake in the Garden telling me to get the job done," Potter said, eyes burning with curse-light intensity into Malfoy's own. "What're you gonna do, Malfoy? Call upon dear old dead Daddy's spirit to help you rescue a bunch of poor lost Gryffindors?"
Malfoy gasped over and over, the heels of his palms digging into his temples as vertigo shook him. "Stop-- oh God-- stop it--"
He grinned and knocked Malfoy to the ground, legs and arms atangle. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Potter said conversationally, their faces inches apart.
Malfoy spat in his face. Saying 'no' would only play into Potter's hand, and besides, he was sick of lying. There were more important things to be done. "You're a pathetic excuse for a fucking fearless leader, Potter," he hissed, head still pounding viciously. He wouldn't be surprised if Potter's little stunts earned him migraines for the rest of his stupid existence.
Potter grinned maniacally and knocked their foreheads together, nails digging into Malfoy's shoulders. Moments later, Malfoy had a black eye and Potter was panting, but Malfoy's glare didn't lessen. "This is all your fault," Potter said almost petulantly. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't interfered in the first place. I wouldn't have had to kill anyone. Well, except for him."
"Blaming others as usual, I see." Malfoy wheezed, head still spinning and stomach churning after Potter's withdrawal.
"And what have you been doing? You're here wasting time with me, aren't you? Shouldn't you be hunting down the renegades? Uncle Severus is probably at his limit by now, and you know how he needs you," Potter sneered. He was all too sober now, and Malfoy was far from sure this was any improvement. What was he doing here, anyway? Oh, right.
"Fuck you, Harry! Will you ever stop rubbing the stupid wizard's debt in my face?" Malfoy's face was twisted and his cheeks flushed, and Potter was hard instantly, just like back in school. It never changed, none of it. "When in hell did you become such a bloody coward?"
Potter breathed out noisily, thrusting a hand down between them to rub brutally at Malfoy's own hard-on. "And you're no better than me. You're in love with me, aren't you?" Potter whispered.
Malfoy swallowed bile, controlling himself with a gigantic act of will. "Of course I'm not better, you twit!" Malfoy tried to twist away, but naturally it was hopeless. "You're the fucking hero around here, or have you forgotten that, too?"
His hand stilled, and Potter's stare grew icy. "I'm nobody's hero, Draco, and if you want your head still on by morning you'll shut your mouth about it." His fist squeezed painfully tight around Malfoy's half-hard prick, teeth baring as Malfoy's eyes rolled in their sockets. "They don't need me," he said, nipping at Malfoy's earlobe absent-mindedly. "Not like you do."
Malfoy bucked against him but his voice was as smoothly harsh as ever; Malfoy was something else. Lying on a thin cover of snow over the fresh grass, splatters of enemy blood on his hands, he made Potter forget. He made it worth it.
"Boo-hoo, poor little Lord fucking Prince Savior," Malfoy spat prettily, writhing beneath him.
Potter's breath caught, and his head swam. Why were they arguing again? Oh yes. It was fun. "Sure saved you all right, didn't I? Or where would you be right now? Hmmm?" Potter licked a swath up the cut on Malfoy's cheek, making the other give a catlike hiss.
"I'd rather be Kissed than see you drunk on magic while your little Gryffindor friends get tortured," Malfoy said, which earned him a deeper bite. Potter licked at the blood running down Malfoy's neck with fierce relish, and for a moment Malfoy remembered why he was there. "B-bastard!"
"It's the way you like it, isn't it?" Potter asked philosophically. Something buzzed in his trouser pocket, and Potter started. "Wouldn't want me too prim and proper, would you now?"
"Want you-- to cut the shit," he panted.
"Pot, kettle," Potter smirked, and then there was an odd sort of musical ringing sound. "Oh! Gimme a sec," he mumbled, and fished out some sort of silvery Muggle appliance Draco had assumed was a lighter. He flipped it open, brought it to his ear and promptly scowled. "Agent Liberator," he said briskly. "Report." He nodded several times. "And Agent Cannon? Fuck. Fuck. All right, Roger. 'S all right, Her-- Liberator. I know what I'm doing. Over and out."
Malfoy goggled as Potter rose to his feet fluidly, patting himself down. "Well, looks like our fun is over," he said with a strange little smile.
"Fuck!" Draco barely refrained from going for an answering shiner on Potter's smug face. There was only so much Potter would tolerate, and they both knew the boundary by now. And he was left out of the loop again! Potter still didn't trust him, and that knowledge made Draco want to scream or slug Harry or just leave. But he knew he couldn't do any of those things, not anymore.
"Come along, Toto," Potter sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. He was barefoot on the grass which stretched out beyond their little island of ice. "We're off to see the Wizard. If I ask nicely, d'you think he'd share his toys?"
"Oh get a bloody grip!" Malfoy sighed, pocketing his wand and taking his place at Potter's back. "Who do you think you are?" he said, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Potter stopped for a moment, almost as if he had to think about it. "I'm the Tin Man," he said finally. "I guess that means you're the Wizard, huh?"
Malfoy shook his head. "Or maybe you're the Wicked Witch of the West," Potter grinned. "You reckon she just after the Tin Man's cock?"
As usual, he wasn't quite sure what Potter was getting at but he knew when he was being insulted. "You're drunk, My Lord," he said automatically, silently counting to fifty.
"Not this time," Potter said with his usual hotheaded conviction before he Disapparated, and Malfoy followed.
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