August prompt: 4 - When the world says, "Give up,"
Title / Prompt: When the world says, "Give up,"
Hope whispers, "Try it one more time." --Author Unknown.
Character: Blaise Zabini (au.)
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Warnings: Boy love.
Rating: NC17.
Word count: 984.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Blaise sighs and leans against the wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans. He's tired and he's sore, it's been a long day and he's beginning to feel that his world has reduced itself to endless meetings, endless reports, endless darkness. He's beginning to feel pressed in and is depressed by it - politics has never been his forte nor his interest. He misses the years that he had roamed the world as free as a bird, his only companion being Tom inside his head as they searched for a way to return his lover to his own body. Now, he sees Tom only in the evenings, and his lover is always exhausted, falls asleep quickly, and has nightmares that wake him screaming and clutching at Blaise in the darkness of the night.
Blaise wants to take them away from all this and be done with it. He wants to take Tom out of England and go to Europe, to be nothing more dangerous than two young men in love travelling for the joy of being in each other's company, nothing more, nothing less. He worries about Tom as he watches his lover, watches the dark circles under his lover's eyes grow darker and darker.
Is this really worth it? Blaise has sent the Death Eaters away early, overcome at last by his annoyance and his ennui. Is all this really worth it? Life's precious, dear heart, why waste it on all of this?
Tom stands by the window, looking out over the weed choked grounds of the Riddle House, Nagini curling around his leg. I don't know, he admits and Blaise sighs, moves to him and stands behind him, arms wrapped around Tom's waist.
Let's leave, then.
Tom relaxes into the embrace, rests his head back on Blaise's shoulder. And go where?
Anywhere we want. Even as he's thinking to his lover, Blaise leans in to nibble and suck on his lover's earlobe, making Tom purr. We have eternity, dear one. Let's not waste it with politics, yeah? One hand slides beneath Tom's robes to stroke his stomach.
That feels good. Tom shivers happily, pliant in Blaise's arms. Don't you believe in the cause, Blaise?
No. Blaise's hand slides lower, beneath Tom's clothes to wrap around his cock. I believe in you, in us. I don't believe in politics, because it always goes to shit. No exceptions, dear one. No matter how well intentioned, politics always goes to shit.
"Ohh…" Tom moans softly as Blaise strokes his cock, tries to keep his thoughts on the discussion, but it's difficult when Blaise is kissing his neck like that, when Blaise's hand is wrapped around his cock and his thumb is rubbing the slit. It's so difficult to concentrate when he can feel the heat of Blaise's body pressed against him, warm and solid and real, can feel the hardness of Blaise's own cock against his arse. I…don't stop.
Come away with me. Blaise has got his lover's trousers down now, his own jeans open and is pressing his cock between his lover's arse cheeks. Let's leave this bullshit situation and just go and be us, together.
I…ohfuckyes…Blaise, please! Tom moans, rocks back into his lover, heat surging. It's been so long…too long.
Another reason to hate politics. Blaise casts the lubrication charm, slides a slicked finger inside his lover and is rewarded with a hungry moan. There's no point to this shit anymore, dear one. Nothing'll ever change, you know it and I know it.
I need…I need…oh fuck!
I know what you need. Blaise withdraws the finger, leans his lover forward and replaces his finger with his cock, moaning softly as he feels his lover yield so eagerly to him.
You always know what I need, oh gods, so good, Love!
Blaise strokes Tom's cock, leans in to nibble the nape of his neck as he rocks slowly into that tight heat, moans as Tom clenches around him every time he's buried balls deep within him. Come away with me, he repeats.
Oh fuck, Blaise! So good! Tom grips the edge of the windowsill tightly, moaning hotly as his lover fucks him, as Nagini coils around his naked leg, her tongue flicking over his calf.
Come away with me.
Oh gods…Blaise…
Come away with me, Tom.
O-okay, yes, oh fuck, yes!
Say it.
Fuck, Blaise!
A word is a promise, dear one, say it.
Tom groans, so aroused, so wanting, and he knows that his lover is right, but he doesn't want to seem as if he's giving up. As if he's read his mind - and considering how close they are, Blaise probably has at that - Blaise purrs against him, murmurs about how it's not giving up, it's letting go and they are two entirely different things. And he's right, Tom knows it - no matter how hard he tries to keep the Death Eaters in line, the more they ignore him, twist his words and commit atrocities in his name that he never sanctioned. He's tired of them, tired of the political manoeuvring, and as he loses himself in Blaise's body, Blaise's hands, Blaise's tongue, Blaise's mind and his love, Tom moans and comes thick and hot, yelling his lover's name, even as he thinks to him, I'll come away with you.
Blaise lets out a long strangled groan and comes as well, rocking into his lover as they pant and gasp for air, and he kisses Tom's neck and whispers, "Thank you."
There's a hand on his hip, as Tom reaches behind him to touch Blaise and his lover whispers, "No, thank you, Love."
Hope whispers, "Try it one more time." --Author Unknown.
Character: Blaise Zabini (au.)
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Warnings: Boy love.
Rating: NC17.
Word count: 984.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Blaise sighs and leans against the wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans. He's tired and he's sore, it's been a long day and he's beginning to feel that his world has reduced itself to endless meetings, endless reports, endless darkness. He's beginning to feel pressed in and is depressed by it - politics has never been his forte nor his interest. He misses the years that he had roamed the world as free as a bird, his only companion being Tom inside his head as they searched for a way to return his lover to his own body. Now, he sees Tom only in the evenings, and his lover is always exhausted, falls asleep quickly, and has nightmares that wake him screaming and clutching at Blaise in the darkness of the night.
Blaise wants to take them away from all this and be done with it. He wants to take Tom out of England and go to Europe, to be nothing more dangerous than two young men in love travelling for the joy of being in each other's company, nothing more, nothing less. He worries about Tom as he watches his lover, watches the dark circles under his lover's eyes grow darker and darker.
Is this really worth it? Blaise has sent the Death Eaters away early, overcome at last by his annoyance and his ennui. Is all this really worth it? Life's precious, dear heart, why waste it on all of this?
Tom stands by the window, looking out over the weed choked grounds of the Riddle House, Nagini curling around his leg. I don't know, he admits and Blaise sighs, moves to him and stands behind him, arms wrapped around Tom's waist.
Let's leave, then.
Tom relaxes into the embrace, rests his head back on Blaise's shoulder. And go where?
Anywhere we want. Even as he's thinking to his lover, Blaise leans in to nibble and suck on his lover's earlobe, making Tom purr. We have eternity, dear one. Let's not waste it with politics, yeah? One hand slides beneath Tom's robes to stroke his stomach.
That feels good. Tom shivers happily, pliant in Blaise's arms. Don't you believe in the cause, Blaise?
No. Blaise's hand slides lower, beneath Tom's clothes to wrap around his cock. I believe in you, in us. I don't believe in politics, because it always goes to shit. No exceptions, dear one. No matter how well intentioned, politics always goes to shit.
"Ohh…" Tom moans softly as Blaise strokes his cock, tries to keep his thoughts on the discussion, but it's difficult when Blaise is kissing his neck like that, when Blaise's hand is wrapped around his cock and his thumb is rubbing the slit. It's so difficult to concentrate when he can feel the heat of Blaise's body pressed against him, warm and solid and real, can feel the hardness of Blaise's own cock against his arse. I…don't stop.
Come away with me. Blaise has got his lover's trousers down now, his own jeans open and is pressing his cock between his lover's arse cheeks. Let's leave this bullshit situation and just go and be us, together.
I…ohfuckyes…Blaise, please! Tom moans, rocks back into his lover, heat surging. It's been so long…too long.
Another reason to hate politics. Blaise casts the lubrication charm, slides a slicked finger inside his lover and is rewarded with a hungry moan. There's no point to this shit anymore, dear one. Nothing'll ever change, you know it and I know it.
I need…I need…oh fuck!
I know what you need. Blaise withdraws the finger, leans his lover forward and replaces his finger with his cock, moaning softly as he feels his lover yield so eagerly to him.
You always know what I need, oh gods, so good, Love!
Blaise strokes Tom's cock, leans in to nibble the nape of his neck as he rocks slowly into that tight heat, moans as Tom clenches around him every time he's buried balls deep within him. Come away with me, he repeats.
Oh fuck, Blaise! So good! Tom grips the edge of the windowsill tightly, moaning hotly as his lover fucks him, as Nagini coils around his naked leg, her tongue flicking over his calf.
Come away with me.
Oh gods…Blaise…
Come away with me, Tom.
O-okay, yes, oh fuck, yes!
Say it.
Fuck, Blaise!
A word is a promise, dear one, say it.
Tom groans, so aroused, so wanting, and he knows that his lover is right, but he doesn't want to seem as if he's giving up. As if he's read his mind - and considering how close they are, Blaise probably has at that - Blaise purrs against him, murmurs about how it's not giving up, it's letting go and they are two entirely different things. And he's right, Tom knows it - no matter how hard he tries to keep the Death Eaters in line, the more they ignore him, twist his words and commit atrocities in his name that he never sanctioned. He's tired of them, tired of the political manoeuvring, and as he loses himself in Blaise's body, Blaise's hands, Blaise's tongue, Blaise's mind and his love, Tom moans and comes thick and hot, yelling his lover's name, even as he thinks to him, I'll come away with you.
Blaise lets out a long strangled groan and comes as well, rocking into his lover as they pant and gasp for air, and he kisses Tom's neck and whispers, "Thank you."
There's a hand on his hip, as Tom reaches behind him to touch Blaise and his lover whispers, "No, thank you, Love."