Fic: Advantages
Title: Advantages
Pairing: Theodore/Blaise, with Nott sr./Zabini sr. on the side.
Rating: PG
Word count: 762
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the HP characters or universe (they're JKR's), and I make no profit from this fiction.
Warnings: Er, pseudo-incest? They aren't blood relatives.
Summary: In which Theodore's father becomes Husband #8 to Silene Zabini, and the boys find themselves abruptly stepbrothers.
Author's Notes: This is for the Empress prompt at hp_odd_pairings, using the interpretation that, "negatively, The Empress can signal that you or a woman in your life may resort to emotional blackmail to get what she wants."
“If you were told about this and did not see fit to mention it to me, I shall strangle you with your own intestines,” Theodore growls, and Blaise arches an eyebrow.
“I assure you, I was every bit as ignorant of this as you until yesterday, and I would kill you if you ever tried any such thing,” he says dryly. “I don’t like it either.”
Theodore deflates a bit, righteous outrage sinking quickly into cynical distress. “I suppose the chance she’ll kill him will have to suffice as a consolation,” he mutters, falling back on his bed with a huff of breath. “If I’m exceptionally lucky, they’ll finish one another off, but that seems far too much to hope for.”
Blaise slants a glance at him. “And they say you aren’t an optimist.”
Theodore doesn’t dignify that with a reply. “I hate weddings. They are long, formal, and tedious.”
“You get used to it,” Blaise replies, unable to quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Theodore sighs.
“You’ll be at Nott Estate this summer, then?”
“Apparently so. “
“Avoid the dungeons.” He rolls over on to his stomach, fingertips worrying the edge of the bedspread. It is an oft-repeated motion, so much so that the fabric is starting to ravel, little threads of green. Blaise watches him silently, but Theodore has dropped his gaze, dark eyes focused unseeingly on the pillow, face mostly obscured by the curls of his near-black hair.
It occurs to Blaise, rather abruptly, that he barely knows his stepbrother-to-be at all.
“…You’re not wearing black.”
“It’s hardly appropriate for a wedding. My father’s wedding,” Theodore corrects himself, though his put-out tone is entirely at odds with the statement. Tracey’s lips quirk into a small smile, and she reaches over and straightens the collar of his dress robes. “Blue suits you,” she says.
“Red,” Daphne pipes up, entering on the tail end of the conversation, “he would look even better in red, and Tracey, why on earth are you wearing that hideous… thing?”
Tracey scowls. “Mother made me.”
“It looks as if a candyfloss and a lace shop mated and then had hideous, frilly spawn,” Daphne says, and Tracey nods gloomily. “I know.”
Daphne pats Theodore on the shoulder. “My deepest sympathies for having to be seen with her in that.”
“Daphne!” Tracey shrills, and Theodore winces. “If you’ll excuse me,” he mutters, and slips quickly from the room, only to nearly run into Blaise just outside the door.
“They’ll wind up severing all the ruffles, once they’re done bickering,” Blaise says calmly, and catches Theodore by the wrist. “Come. They’ll catch up.”
It doesn’t come as a surprise that Theodore slips away from the reception as soon as he can politely do so; Blaise watches him go and makes his own excuses a few minutes later. He finds him at the far end of the hallway, well clear of all the guests and leaning against the wall with the air of one escaping something painful. At the sound of Blaise’s footsteps, his gaze flicks up; he looks drained. “Welcome to the family,” he says dryly.
“You’re too kind,” Blaise mutters, watching him. He has the sneaking suspicion that Theodore’s attitude has less to do with the stress of the event itself and a great deal more to do with spending quite so many hours at his father’s side, but he refrains from saying as much.
Theodore sighs quietly. “At least we’re already used to living with one another, I suppose,” he says. Trust Theodore to be practical.
Practical.
“It has certain… advantages,” Blaise drawls slowly, gaze intent on the other boy.
“Oh?” His voice is almost steady, almost, but not steady enough; Blaise does not miss the uncertain, anxious waver, and when he closes a hand around Theodore’s thin wrist, he can feel the pulse racing beneath his fingers.
“Yes,” Blaise says, voice low, and leans in and kisses him before Theodore can think too much about it, or back away, or change his mind.
Theodore doesn’t do any of those things, just makes a half-startled noise against Blaise’s lips and brings a hand unthinkingly up to tangle in Blaise’s hair, and Blaise had expected resistance or protest or a crisis of conscience, but it doesn’t come, not really.
“Stepbrother,” Theodore reminds him, but it doesn’t really sound like an objection, and Blaise smirks against Theodore’s lips.
“Have you got a point?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Checkmate, Silene Zabini thinks to herself, and leaves just as silently as she had come.
Pairing: Theodore/Blaise, with Nott sr./Zabini sr. on the side.
Rating: PG
Word count: 762
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the HP characters or universe (they're JKR's), and I make no profit from this fiction.
Warnings: Er, pseudo-incest? They aren't blood relatives.
Summary: In which Theodore's father becomes Husband #8 to Silene Zabini, and the boys find themselves abruptly stepbrothers.
Author's Notes: This is for the Empress prompt at hp_odd_pairings, using the interpretation that, "negatively, The Empress can signal that you or a woman in your life may resort to emotional blackmail to get what she wants."
“If you were told about this and did not see fit to mention it to me, I shall strangle you with your own intestines,” Theodore growls, and Blaise arches an eyebrow.
“I assure you, I was every bit as ignorant of this as you until yesterday, and I would kill you if you ever tried any such thing,” he says dryly. “I don’t like it either.”
Theodore deflates a bit, righteous outrage sinking quickly into cynical distress. “I suppose the chance she’ll kill him will have to suffice as a consolation,” he mutters, falling back on his bed with a huff of breath. “If I’m exceptionally lucky, they’ll finish one another off, but that seems far too much to hope for.”
Blaise slants a glance at him. “And they say you aren’t an optimist.”
Theodore doesn’t dignify that with a reply. “I hate weddings. They are long, formal, and tedious.”
“You get used to it,” Blaise replies, unable to quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Theodore sighs.
“You’ll be at Nott Estate this summer, then?”
“Apparently so. “
“Avoid the dungeons.” He rolls over on to his stomach, fingertips worrying the edge of the bedspread. It is an oft-repeated motion, so much so that the fabric is starting to ravel, little threads of green. Blaise watches him silently, but Theodore has dropped his gaze, dark eyes focused unseeingly on the pillow, face mostly obscured by the curls of his near-black hair.
It occurs to Blaise, rather abruptly, that he barely knows his stepbrother-to-be at all.
“…You’re not wearing black.”
“It’s hardly appropriate for a wedding. My father’s wedding,” Theodore corrects himself, though his put-out tone is entirely at odds with the statement. Tracey’s lips quirk into a small smile, and she reaches over and straightens the collar of his dress robes. “Blue suits you,” she says.
“Red,” Daphne pipes up, entering on the tail end of the conversation, “he would look even better in red, and Tracey, why on earth are you wearing that hideous… thing?”
Tracey scowls. “Mother made me.”
“It looks as if a candyfloss and a lace shop mated and then had hideous, frilly spawn,” Daphne says, and Tracey nods gloomily. “I know.”
Daphne pats Theodore on the shoulder. “My deepest sympathies for having to be seen with her in that.”
“Daphne!” Tracey shrills, and Theodore winces. “If you’ll excuse me,” he mutters, and slips quickly from the room, only to nearly run into Blaise just outside the door.
“They’ll wind up severing all the ruffles, once they’re done bickering,” Blaise says calmly, and catches Theodore by the wrist. “Come. They’ll catch up.”
It doesn’t come as a surprise that Theodore slips away from the reception as soon as he can politely do so; Blaise watches him go and makes his own excuses a few minutes later. He finds him at the far end of the hallway, well clear of all the guests and leaning against the wall with the air of one escaping something painful. At the sound of Blaise’s footsteps, his gaze flicks up; he looks drained. “Welcome to the family,” he says dryly.
“You’re too kind,” Blaise mutters, watching him. He has the sneaking suspicion that Theodore’s attitude has less to do with the stress of the event itself and a great deal more to do with spending quite so many hours at his father’s side, but he refrains from saying as much.
Theodore sighs quietly. “At least we’re already used to living with one another, I suppose,” he says. Trust Theodore to be practical.
Practical.
“It has certain… advantages,” Blaise drawls slowly, gaze intent on the other boy.
“Oh?” His voice is almost steady, almost, but not steady enough; Blaise does not miss the uncertain, anxious waver, and when he closes a hand around Theodore’s thin wrist, he can feel the pulse racing beneath his fingers.
“Yes,” Blaise says, voice low, and leans in and kisses him before Theodore can think too much about it, or back away, or change his mind.
Theodore doesn’t do any of those things, just makes a half-startled noise against Blaise’s lips and brings a hand unthinkingly up to tangle in Blaise’s hair, and Blaise had expected resistance or protest or a crisis of conscience, but it doesn’t come, not really.
“Stepbrother,” Theodore reminds him, but it doesn’t really sound like an objection, and Blaise smirks against Theodore’s lips.
“Have you got a point?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Checkmate, Silene Zabini thinks to herself, and leaves just as silently as she had come.