i got electric guitar
Title: Masochism
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: angst, romance
Characters: Lionel Lovegood, Benjy Fenwick, Dorcas Meadowes, mentions of Marlene McKinnon
Benjy asks him to wait after the Order meeting, and so he does, busying himself rolling his shirtsleeve down to cover that disgusting Mark scorched into his skin and shuffling his papers together. Benjy doesn’t make even the attempt to cover it up, just stretches out in his chair and waits for everyone to leave. Dorcas throws him an awkward backwards glance before she leaves, but Benjy doesn’t make eye contact.
Finally, though, everyone’s gone and it’s just the two of them. Lionel waits patiently for Benjy to say whatever’s on his mind, and after a while he does.
Benjy stands up, legs spread in determination. He doesn’t quite meet Lionel’s eyes, but he says, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”
Lionel raises an eyebrow, but is otherwise unaffected. “Why?”
“Because I am doing something terrible, and somebody needs to hurt me.”
He considers this. “Yeah, alright. I understand that,” Lionel agrees, and then decks him hard with his left arm, the one with the Mark on it.
Benjy flies with the punch. He grunts and shuts his eyes against the pain, trying to prolong it as penance. After it fades, he blinks rapidly and straightens up. “Again.”
Lionel doesn’t say anything this time, just hauls back and hits him again with his left fist in the stomach. Benjy doubles over, the wind knocked out of him. He sits down hard in a chair and gasps, “She was happy…and I ruined it. I was happy, and I ruined that too.”
He looks up and sees Lionel shaking out his hand. Their eyes catch (something electric passes between but both boys disregard it as unimportant and unlikely). “Dorcas?” Lionel asks. Benjy notices the way he grips his left forearm, but doesn’t say anything.
Breath finally coming back to him, Benjy says, “You’re very observant, mate.”
“I’ve done the same,” Lionel offers. “But I’m sure you already heard that about me.”
“Yeah, I have. Marlene.” Benjy shakes his head. “We’re screwed up, Lionel. One more?”
Lionel shakes his head. “Masochists, you and I. And no, it’s my turn. Hit me.”
“Something like,” Benjy says, then nods once before getting Lionel right across the jaw with his fist.
He loses his balance and grips the table for support, and then stands up again and shoots Benjy a bloody grin. Lionel spits out red onto the classroom floor uncaringly, and runs a thumb over his split lip. “Thanks, mate. You owed me.”
Some odd kind of logic runs through Benjy’s head, and then he isn’t sure why, exactly, it could be out of desperation, or to prove he could, or something to do with that funny feeling in his stomach, but what happens next is Benjy pushes his lips on Lionel’s and tastes blood and skin and regret and then Lionel’s pushing back, more muscle in that scrawny boy than he was expecting. They fumble a minute together in the middle of the room before finding their balance and gripping each other to keep it that way.
It feels like his first kiss, Lionel thinks, falling back to being fifteen with a split lip at a riot show, walking to the bathroom and then grabbed by that girl with the mohawk, older than he was, and crushed to her. It feels nostalgic. He takes a few casual sweeps of Benjy’s mouth with his tongue and decides that it’s a lot like that.
Lionel shoves him away after a minute, just grabs hold of Benjy’s school shirt and pushes him back roughly.
Benjy’s embarrassed, runs a hand through his hair and struggles to say, “Lionel, mate, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened, just--”
Until Lionel cuts him off with a grin, saying, “I’m not Dorcas, Benjy, sorry.” He laughs, and leaves the room, throwing a wave over his shoulder.
Benjy stands there a minute more, prolonging the feeling as penance, because yes, finally, this pain was exactly right.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: angst, romance
Characters: Lionel Lovegood, Benjy Fenwick, Dorcas Meadowes, mentions of Marlene McKinnon
Benjy asks him to wait after the Order meeting, and so he does, busying himself rolling his shirtsleeve down to cover that disgusting Mark scorched into his skin and shuffling his papers together. Benjy doesn’t make even the attempt to cover it up, just stretches out in his chair and waits for everyone to leave. Dorcas throws him an awkward backwards glance before she leaves, but Benjy doesn’t make eye contact.
Finally, though, everyone’s gone and it’s just the two of them. Lionel waits patiently for Benjy to say whatever’s on his mind, and after a while he does.
Benjy stands up, legs spread in determination. He doesn’t quite meet Lionel’s eyes, but he says, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”
Lionel raises an eyebrow, but is otherwise unaffected. “Why?”
“Because I am doing something terrible, and somebody needs to hurt me.”
He considers this. “Yeah, alright. I understand that,” Lionel agrees, and then decks him hard with his left arm, the one with the Mark on it.
Benjy flies with the punch. He grunts and shuts his eyes against the pain, trying to prolong it as penance. After it fades, he blinks rapidly and straightens up. “Again.”
Lionel doesn’t say anything this time, just hauls back and hits him again with his left fist in the stomach. Benjy doubles over, the wind knocked out of him. He sits down hard in a chair and gasps, “She was happy…and I ruined it. I was happy, and I ruined that too.”
He looks up and sees Lionel shaking out his hand. Their eyes catch (something electric passes between but both boys disregard it as unimportant and unlikely). “Dorcas?” Lionel asks. Benjy notices the way he grips his left forearm, but doesn’t say anything.
Breath finally coming back to him, Benjy says, “You’re very observant, mate.”
“I’ve done the same,” Lionel offers. “But I’m sure you already heard that about me.”
“Yeah, I have. Marlene.” Benjy shakes his head. “We’re screwed up, Lionel. One more?”
Lionel shakes his head. “Masochists, you and I. And no, it’s my turn. Hit me.”
“Something like,” Benjy says, then nods once before getting Lionel right across the jaw with his fist.
He loses his balance and grips the table for support, and then stands up again and shoots Benjy a bloody grin. Lionel spits out red onto the classroom floor uncaringly, and runs a thumb over his split lip. “Thanks, mate. You owed me.”
Some odd kind of logic runs through Benjy’s head, and then he isn’t sure why, exactly, it could be out of desperation, or to prove he could, or something to do with that funny feeling in his stomach, but what happens next is Benjy pushes his lips on Lionel’s and tastes blood and skin and regret and then Lionel’s pushing back, more muscle in that scrawny boy than he was expecting. They fumble a minute together in the middle of the room before finding their balance and gripping each other to keep it that way.
It feels like his first kiss, Lionel thinks, falling back to being fifteen with a split lip at a riot show, walking to the bathroom and then grabbed by that girl with the mohawk, older than he was, and crushed to her. It feels nostalgic. He takes a few casual sweeps of Benjy’s mouth with his tongue and decides that it’s a lot like that.
Lionel shoves him away after a minute, just grabs hold of Benjy’s school shirt and pushes him back roughly.
Benjy’s embarrassed, runs a hand through his hair and struggles to say, “Lionel, mate, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened, just--”
Until Lionel cuts him off with a grin, saying, “I’m not Dorcas, Benjy, sorry.” He laughs, and leaves the room, throwing a wave over his shoulder.
Benjy stands there a minute more, prolonging the feeling as penance, because yes, finally, this pain was exactly right.