Don't You Really Want to Fall [Blaise/Ron PG13]
Title; Don't You Really Want to Fall
Author; dana_chaaan
Rating; PG
Prompt Set; 50.4
Prompt; 19. Quitting
Word Count; 1084
Summary: Blaise stares at the ground below, breaking his vow. He's strangely oblivious to an observer.
Warning: Slash.
Notes: I kind of like this one and how it came out. I made Ron a little more mature, and I don't see anything wrong with that. Eh. Maybe.
Begins.
Blaise stood in the Astronomy Tower, looking at the ground below. His feet stood on the ledge of the large window, and his balance was well-kept. The frosty air signaled winter was to come, but the leaves were still falling off the visible trees. Autumn was this Slytherin's favorite season.
Sometimes he wondered how it would feel to just fall. Fall and know he couldn't save himself. It wasn't like flying with a broom, which he still didn't care much for. It was more of a suicide drop, and the only way to figure out the feeling was to fall. But no matter, Blaise wouldn't do such a thing.
"I said I was going to quit, but..." Blaise trailed off, reaching into an inner-coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. It was his own little secret. No one except Draco and Theodore knew about his nicotine addiction. And that was only because his first cancer stick was with them. Draco had persuaded him, and Theodore kept supplying him. He couldn't stop. So he didn't.
Recently, though, he didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want to feel gross and disgusting and smell that horrible scent on himself every morning. He hated it with a passion, and vowed to himself to stop. Plus, he couldn't stop picturing the Golden Boy lecturing him on the cons of smoking. Which was revolting, in and of itself.
It got even worse when he pictured the redheaded friend lecturing him.
It was hard to even say it in his head, but something about the red hair and freckles got to him. Ever since he very discreetly hinted that he thought the Weaslette was attractive, he began to take it as personal truth. But slowly the girl appeal on her was getting less appealing, and somehow her brother landed in view. Blaise couldn't explain it any more than thought. It wasn't that he was attractive to the Gryffindor in any way but physically. But that was still disgusting.
He lifted a cigarette to his lips, searching for his lighter and reiterated his words, "I guess I just can't quit, even if I want to."
The door to the Astronomy Tower had been left open because it was somewhere not many people went. But because of this, Blaise wasn't signaled of someone's entrance by the door, but instead by their voice.
"Giving into yourself too easily, Slytherin?"
Blaise didn't need to whip around, he recognized the voice quite easily. It was always so loud; it was no wonder he did recognize it. He sucked in a breath as he lit the stick and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. Holding the stick between his fingers, he let out a line of smoke.
"Maybe." His voice was light, like always, and his tone was practically nonexistent.
Before he could even realize, a hand shot out to take the cigarette from him. It was Blaise's fault, he knew, but because of a sharp turn to see the other he lost his all-important footing. Maybe he didn't have to make the jump himself to get that feeling.
Ron reflexively grabbed the boy's robes and pulled the Slytherin back toward the window. It was all momentum by that time, and the body flied back to him and managed to trap him on the floor. He was pinned by a slimey git. A slimey, snake-like git.
"Close save there," Ron said, try to push himself up and realizing the other wasn't even moving at all. What in Merlin's name? One of his hands was trapped inbetween them, his legs locked by Blaise's. "Ow!" he screeched suddenly, feeling a burning sensation on his finger. The finger that was on the hand that was held hostage between them. The hand that was holding the cigarette with the finger that was being eaten by the heat. But, Ron thought, if his finger was burning and his finger was brushing against the Blaise's robes, didn't that mean Blaise's stomach was being burned. Surely the material was hot enough to hurt.
"That hurts, you know," Blaise said indifferently.
Speak of the devil. "Then why don't you get up?"
"You stole my cigarette, I thought I'd just steal something of yours."
"What, my finger? I think the heat's doing that, Slytherin."
Blaise sighed and pulled himself up. He was still on top of Ron, sitting on his abdomen with a leg on either side. Blaise plucked the cancer stick from the redhead's hand and grabbed the same hand with his spare one. Bringing the stick up to his mouth, he licked two of his fingers and then pinched the burning side, putting it out. Blaise brought his other hand, the one holding Ron's, up to his face and looked at the burn, ignoring the confused stare he was receiving from Ron.
"It's not that bad, you'll be fine."
Ron couldn't say he cared, even if it hurt pretty bad, "Why're you sitting on me?"
With no response, Blaise got off of the Gryffindor and offered a hand to the still-motionless boy. Ron took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. Once he was standing, two hands cupped the sides of his face and black eyes connected with blue.
"Thank you," Blaise said, softly; gently; very un-Slytherin.
"For what?" Ron asked.
"For stopping me," from smoking and from falling, he thought further in his mind, took his hands off of Ron, and started to walk away.
"Well I couldn't let you fall, could I?" That question surprised Blaise; he thought Ron would think the other half of his "thank you" continuation. The more reasonable one was the Ron was supposed to pick up on. Ridiculous.
Just as his hand fell on the knob, Blaise heard Ron's voice again. "You think I'm stupid, don't you? For a Slytherin you're really easy to read." Blaise decided it would be best to ignore this comment. Regardless of how much he underestimated the Gryffindor it didn't look like a good subject to tread on. "But don't worry," Ron began again, a smile apparent in his voice, "you can fall and I'll pretend to not care until the very last second. And then I'll catch you. Should be the same feeling."
Blaise Zabini turned his head a little to look at Ron out of the corner of his eye. The redhead could clearly see the smile on his lips before Blaise left the room, pulling the door shut on his way out.
Ends.
Author; dana_chaaan
Rating; PG
Prompt Set; 50.4
Prompt; 19. Quitting
Word Count; 1084
Summary: Blaise stares at the ground below, breaking his vow. He's strangely oblivious to an observer.
Warning: Slash.
Notes: I kind of like this one and how it came out. I made Ron a little more mature, and I don't see anything wrong with that. Eh. Maybe.
Begins.
Blaise stood in the Astronomy Tower, looking at the ground below. His feet stood on the ledge of the large window, and his balance was well-kept. The frosty air signaled winter was to come, but the leaves were still falling off the visible trees. Autumn was this Slytherin's favorite season.
Sometimes he wondered how it would feel to just fall. Fall and know he couldn't save himself. It wasn't like flying with a broom, which he still didn't care much for. It was more of a suicide drop, and the only way to figure out the feeling was to fall. But no matter, Blaise wouldn't do such a thing.
"I said I was going to quit, but..." Blaise trailed off, reaching into an inner-coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. It was his own little secret. No one except Draco and Theodore knew about his nicotine addiction. And that was only because his first cancer stick was with them. Draco had persuaded him, and Theodore kept supplying him. He couldn't stop. So he didn't.
Recently, though, he didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want to feel gross and disgusting and smell that horrible scent on himself every morning. He hated it with a passion, and vowed to himself to stop. Plus, he couldn't stop picturing the Golden Boy lecturing him on the cons of smoking. Which was revolting, in and of itself.
It got even worse when he pictured the redheaded friend lecturing him.
It was hard to even say it in his head, but something about the red hair and freckles got to him. Ever since he very discreetly hinted that he thought the Weaslette was attractive, he began to take it as personal truth. But slowly the girl appeal on her was getting less appealing, and somehow her brother landed in view. Blaise couldn't explain it any more than thought. It wasn't that he was attractive to the Gryffindor in any way but physically. But that was still disgusting.
He lifted a cigarette to his lips, searching for his lighter and reiterated his words, "I guess I just can't quit, even if I want to."
The door to the Astronomy Tower had been left open because it was somewhere not many people went. But because of this, Blaise wasn't signaled of someone's entrance by the door, but instead by their voice.
"Giving into yourself too easily, Slytherin?"
Blaise didn't need to whip around, he recognized the voice quite easily. It was always so loud; it was no wonder he did recognize it. He sucked in a breath as he lit the stick and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. Holding the stick between his fingers, he let out a line of smoke.
"Maybe." His voice was light, like always, and his tone was practically nonexistent.
Before he could even realize, a hand shot out to take the cigarette from him. It was Blaise's fault, he knew, but because of a sharp turn to see the other he lost his all-important footing. Maybe he didn't have to make the jump himself to get that feeling.
Ron reflexively grabbed the boy's robes and pulled the Slytherin back toward the window. It was all momentum by that time, and the body flied back to him and managed to trap him on the floor. He was pinned by a slimey git. A slimey, snake-like git.
"Close save there," Ron said, try to push himself up and realizing the other wasn't even moving at all. What in Merlin's name? One of his hands was trapped inbetween them, his legs locked by Blaise's. "Ow!" he screeched suddenly, feeling a burning sensation on his finger. The finger that was on the hand that was held hostage between them. The hand that was holding the cigarette with the finger that was being eaten by the heat. But, Ron thought, if his finger was burning and his finger was brushing against the Blaise's robes, didn't that mean Blaise's stomach was being burned. Surely the material was hot enough to hurt.
"That hurts, you know," Blaise said indifferently.
Speak of the devil. "Then why don't you get up?"
"You stole my cigarette, I thought I'd just steal something of yours."
"What, my finger? I think the heat's doing that, Slytherin."
Blaise sighed and pulled himself up. He was still on top of Ron, sitting on his abdomen with a leg on either side. Blaise plucked the cancer stick from the redhead's hand and grabbed the same hand with his spare one. Bringing the stick up to his mouth, he licked two of his fingers and then pinched the burning side, putting it out. Blaise brought his other hand, the one holding Ron's, up to his face and looked at the burn, ignoring the confused stare he was receiving from Ron.
"It's not that bad, you'll be fine."
Ron couldn't say he cared, even if it hurt pretty bad, "Why're you sitting on me?"
With no response, Blaise got off of the Gryffindor and offered a hand to the still-motionless boy. Ron took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. Once he was standing, two hands cupped the sides of his face and black eyes connected with blue.
"Thank you," Blaise said, softly; gently; very un-Slytherin.
"For what?" Ron asked.
"For stopping me," from smoking and from falling, he thought further in his mind, took his hands off of Ron, and started to walk away.
"Well I couldn't let you fall, could I?" That question surprised Blaise; he thought Ron would think the other half of his "thank you" continuation. The more reasonable one was the Ron was supposed to pick up on. Ridiculous.
Just as his hand fell on the knob, Blaise heard Ron's voice again. "You think I'm stupid, don't you? For a Slytherin you're really easy to read." Blaise decided it would be best to ignore this comment. Regardless of how much he underestimated the Gryffindor it didn't look like a good subject to tread on. "But don't worry," Ron began again, a smile apparent in his voice, "you can fall and I'll pretend to not care until the very last second. And then I'll catch you. Should be the same feeling."
Blaise Zabini turned his head a little to look at Ron out of the corner of his eye. The redhead could clearly see the smile on his lips before Blaise left the room, pulling the door shut on his way out.
Ends.