Running Deep
Title: Running Deep
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairings: Tom/Billy, but not, if you get my meaning
Summary: Post-HBP character study of Tom M. Riddle.
Author's Notes: Second person drabble, with Tom Riddle as the 'You' in question. HBP spoilers, and slightly angsty.
Running Deep
Billy Stubbs looks at you sometimes, with those deep, uncertain eyes. His smiles are reserved for the other boys and girls; the ones who don’t ever become possessed by that burning resentment that makes them look like they’re wearing red-tinted contacts. When he smiles, you can feel a weight lift off his companions and land - unwillingly - on you. You sometimes think that all his demons have died, and now they’re rotting in his smile.
He fawned over that rabbit of his, the one you killed and hung from the rafters, and he cried when he found it. The thrill of it ran through you, making your blood boil with joy at the power you could have over him; over all of them. But when the joy was gone, there was nothing left but that cold emptiness that ever-threatens to consume you, making you feel strange things you don’t want to feel.
It’s not like fear - that’s the worst part - which makes your heart run a mile a minute. It beats slowly - tick, tock, tick, tock; rat’s run up the clock - like a bomb waiting to explode. It runs deep inside you, inside your very blood, and all that you can do is wait.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairings: Tom/Billy, but not, if you get my meaning
Summary: Post-HBP character study of Tom M. Riddle.
Author's Notes: Second person drabble, with Tom Riddle as the 'You' in question. HBP spoilers, and slightly angsty.
Running Deep
Billy Stubbs looks at you sometimes, with those deep, uncertain eyes. His smiles are reserved for the other boys and girls; the ones who don’t ever become possessed by that burning resentment that makes them look like they’re wearing red-tinted contacts. When he smiles, you can feel a weight lift off his companions and land - unwillingly - on you. You sometimes think that all his demons have died, and now they’re rotting in his smile.
He fawned over that rabbit of his, the one you killed and hung from the rafters, and he cried when he found it. The thrill of it ran through you, making your blood boil with joy at the power you could have over him; over all of them. But when the joy was gone, there was nothing left but that cold emptiness that ever-threatens to consume you, making you feel strange things you don’t want to feel.
It’s not like fear - that’s the worst part - which makes your heart run a mile a minute. It beats slowly - tick, tock, tick, tock; rat’s run up the clock - like a bomb waiting to explode. It runs deep inside you, inside your very blood, and all that you can do is wait.