Fic: HP, (bz/dm) drabble, "if you could only see the beast you've made of me"
Title: "si sólo pudieras ver a la bestia que has hecho de mí / if you could only see the beast you've made of me"
Word Count: 300
Author: whitmans_kiss
Rating: PG-13
Contains: wanking
Characters; Pairings: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters are of legal age.
Summary: You get a bit of a sick thrill in the very pit of your stomach, just above your groin, when you pull your curtains closed and for the first time don’t set the Imperturbable Charm immediately after.
Author's Notes: For toujours_nigel. I don't know where all these drabbles are coming from, either. I think this is a Blaise version of part of this fic.
Lollyverse
That night, you decide to undress in front of your bed rather than beside it, working the buttons on your shirt slowly, not for any air of coolness, but because it is the only way to keep your fingers from shaking so badly they’d be useless at all. Draco steals glances he thinks you don’t see, running a careful hand through his hair as he digs out his own pyjamas from his trunk.
You get a bit of a sick thrill in the very pit of your stomach, just above your groin, when you pull your curtains closed and for the first time don’t set the Imperturbable Charm immediately after, knowing that they can hear you - that he can hear you, because he’s the reason why you’re doing this, anyway, this half-mad thing, and you half-think that he can hear your heart beating louder than the breaths you don’t bother to stifle, the moans you do.
Your fingers, suddenly calmer now and frustratingly too large and dark to belong to anyone else but you, wrap around your prick and pull, and once the first sound passes through your lips you think you might burst into hysterical laughter, instead, because Draco’s dropped something, and it’s just shattered like the front you’ve both kept up for ten weeks and two days, though it's not like anyone’s counting.
But you are counting, the number of days before he approaches you (seventeen), the number of times he hears you come with your lips forming his name and your mind forming his hand around you (six), the number of freckles you see on the side of his neck when you lean over him to steal parchment and let your thumb trace the inside of his wrist (nine, and you think you could kiss them all)
Word Count: 300
Author: whitmans_kiss
Rating: PG-13
Contains: wanking
Characters; Pairings: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters are of legal age.
Summary: You get a bit of a sick thrill in the very pit of your stomach, just above your groin, when you pull your curtains closed and for the first time don’t set the Imperturbable Charm immediately after.
Author's Notes: For toujours_nigel. I don't know where all these drabbles are coming from, either. I think this is a Blaise version of part of this fic.
Lollyverse
That night, you decide to undress in front of your bed rather than beside it, working the buttons on your shirt slowly, not for any air of coolness, but because it is the only way to keep your fingers from shaking so badly they’d be useless at all. Draco steals glances he thinks you don’t see, running a careful hand through his hair as he digs out his own pyjamas from his trunk.
You get a bit of a sick thrill in the very pit of your stomach, just above your groin, when you pull your curtains closed and for the first time don’t set the Imperturbable Charm immediately after, knowing that they can hear you - that he can hear you, because he’s the reason why you’re doing this, anyway, this half-mad thing, and you half-think that he can hear your heart beating louder than the breaths you don’t bother to stifle, the moans you do.
Your fingers, suddenly calmer now and frustratingly too large and dark to belong to anyone else but you, wrap around your prick and pull, and once the first sound passes through your lips you think you might burst into hysterical laughter, instead, because Draco’s dropped something, and it’s just shattered like the front you’ve both kept up for ten weeks and two days, though it's not like anyone’s counting.
But you are counting, the number of days before he approaches you (seventeen), the number of times he hears you come with your lips forming his name and your mind forming his hand around you (six), the number of freckles you see on the side of his neck when you lean over him to steal parchment and let your thumb trace the inside of his wrist (nine, and you think you could kiss them all)