(no subject)
Title: Sweet Pain
Pairing: H/D
Genre: Angst
Warning: PG-13
Notes: I was not in a good mood when I wrote this. There is a little talk of self-mutilation and gore, but that’s the worse of it. Draco’s POV
Normally I’m all for pain. There is something beautiful in peeling away skin with a sharpened knife. Pain gives balance, a reason to be. It’s with pain that you can truly understand life. A masochist a heart I can claim my true lover in pain. Granted of course, it doesn’t always have to be physical. Emotional pain is good too. It leaves fewer scars, and reigns fewer questions. Pain is something I’m so used to. It is my right hand, my second sight. It is my bed partner and old friend. You get used to pain for long enough and soon, it becomes as necessary as breathing.
It’s never so simple. There is no infinite scale between pain and pleasure; love and hate. The boundaries are much more obscure than the simple black, white, and grey. Pain and pleasure are rings around a person. They double over themselves no more than brother and sister. If you look too closely the boundaries meld together, and neither can be deciphered from the other. In my meager existence, pain is my other half. My pleasure is in my relief from pain. I’m the monk, the ignorant fool, and the defiled virgin.
Normally, I’m all for pain. But this time, I think my own tolerance is tested. I have always hurt my self. But, of course, how would you see it? I was the cold prince; I took what I wanted and never took a backwards glance. I knew my pain in destroying those around me. I knew my relief in building my empire with blood. Hate, gods, I know so well. I know my pain in hate, how it tore at my brittle heart. I know the whispers of relief, when I let it go, for more important things. Like watching you smile. But love, that is another matter entirely. I was broken once, to the point of death, and I had nothing but the love of my father to hold my head up. But he held my arm for the branding iron. He cast the Silenco when I started to scream. And he tutted his disappointment, when I was unable to walk. With love was gone, and hate has become my only source of pain and relief. That is, until you kissed me.
Normally, I’m all for pain. But, you kissed me. And for a while it was the best punishment I could have asked for, because your lips were like the branding iron. And it tore at my heart, it tore at my pride, and it hurt, unlike anything I could have felt. For awhile this was ok, I could build my self back up on this pain. There were rules of course, you didn’t want me destroying your friends, and I didn’t want you destroying mine. I would not tolerate the mention of any sweet words, and nor would you. It was our secret, an unholy embrace. We met all the time, stolen moments and childish antics. I suppose I appealed to your crueler side. I never understood what you got out of it. You were my own personal jailer, every moment was pain, and I relished it. After a while, it became a curiosity as to why our relationship hurt me so. It didn’t take me that long to understand. You were putting me back together. You were pumping my heart with blood and showing me what it was like to be loved through hidden smiles and playful arguments. It took me so long to open my eyes, that by the time I realized I was no longer hurting from your touch I had not the strength to pull away. I was furious, but you smiled. I couldn’t tell you what you did, but you smiled, and it became unimportant. It became sacred. You let me mark you. You let me tell you stories. And I listened to your nightmares. And I held you in your sleep. And I let you capture me.
Normally I’m all for pain. But, you surprised me. I assumed there was some chivalric code that all saviors of the world had to abide. Obviously, no one told you that. You drew me in your arms and whispered your obsession with me. You drew me into your web of lies and I swallowed the hook, bait and all. And then you dumped me. Your eyes begged for a forgiveness that I had not the mind to give. You shouldn’t of looked so betrayed. What do you expect me to do, break down and cry? Pain is my favorite friend; I have no interest of letting you know what I feel. So I let you hold me, I allowed the shock to tear through my system. I allowed it because I could never deny you anything. But I don’t need to tell you that, even though I hinted it. I would have never asked anyone if they were sure, if there was any way to change their mind. All my years of pride and self worthiness shattered into a million pieces when I uttered that soft pea. But you shook your head. And I have no doubt you saw the tear stains on your shirt when you got back to your room. But it doesn’t matter.
Normally I’m all for pain. You went back to your life, and I went back to mine. It wasn’t all that hard really. I locked my self away over the weekend, and let the walls of the dungeon bear the brute of my suffering. This pain I was not used to. It was so much worse that the betrayal of my father. There was potential, and you cut it off. I did not love you, but I could have. And the pain tore me to shreds, and I rode every wave and I let it change me. I saw you with your friends. You still wanted to be my friend, and that was ok. Because I cant deny you anything, even now. Even though the massive wounds in my heart were still bleeding, a little salt never hurt anyone. And who was I to miss an opportunity to build my self up with pain. I warned you once that I was the most jealous creature to live. And you tried to make me prove it. Had you succeed the pretty girl would have been hanging in the dungeon, by her intestines. But you never pushed me that far, and you are no longer my problem. Yet, my soul still claims you as mine, so when others smile at you, I am vividly reminded of where I keep my knives. I have grown cold to you, but I try to smile and end your jokes, when I can. Often I sit and watch you. And wonder if you still bear the mark of my teeth on your flesh. But, you have probably already forgotten, and only you have the power to stifle my claims.
Normally I’m all for pain. But I’ve started to understand the difference, between the pain that makes me stronger, and the pain that makes me weaker. And you have become my greatest weakness. There was a rule in this new game. There would be no mention of our affair. And I made a request. In a moment of desperation I mentioned that you still affected me, and your touch was agony. You never agreed to not touching me but I hoped I made the point. The pain of your presence had no relief. This longing didn’t end, and it slowly drove me insane. You and I both knew that I would not brush you off. So when I asked you for the second to last time not to touch me you didn’t catch the warning plea in my voice. Grant, you were always horrid at reading me. I am a sensuous person, needy for touch and affection, and you ever more so. I think it was due to our sheltered childhoods. We would wrestle all the time and then simply lay in each others arms content. You wanted to play, a wrestle game that you often played with your friends, and I let my self break. As you staggered away from me in disbelief I realized how hard I had hit you. I was so often underestimated, being small in stature and thin for my age, that often I forgot my self how much strength I meticulously stored. Blood was dripping down from your broken nose, staining your lips and chin and quickly turning your shirt red. There were a few drops of blood on the wall and the silence in that moment hurt my ears. Then coldness descended on me like the old friend she was and I asked you for the last time not to touch me. You wouldn’t meet my eyes. But you nodded thoughtfully and walked away.
I don’t know why I did that. Normally I’d rather the agony of your embrace, to harden my shell. I’d rather that sweet pain for the small relief in your smile. But I’ve become broken. I see the way you look at other girls and the pain is so much worse than one of my knives. I just can’t take it anymore. The emotional hell is more than I’m capable of taking. And, its not worth it. Normally I’d rather the pain. Touch me, rape me, and bleed me. But I broke. And I would give up my knives to have you back. But you’re not coming back. And you are my only weakness. I need to cut you off from my life for a while. So I can place what I feel for you in a safe place, where you can’t tap into it at every smile. I’m going to miss you. But if I can't have you, then I will not allow my heart to do the phoenix dance. I’ll simply return to my isolation, and pretend you didn’t show me how to live without pain.
Pairing: H/D
Genre: Angst
Warning: PG-13
Notes: I was not in a good mood when I wrote this. There is a little talk of self-mutilation and gore, but that’s the worse of it. Draco’s POV
Normally I’m all for pain. There is something beautiful in peeling away skin with a sharpened knife. Pain gives balance, a reason to be. It’s with pain that you can truly understand life. A masochist a heart I can claim my true lover in pain. Granted of course, it doesn’t always have to be physical. Emotional pain is good too. It leaves fewer scars, and reigns fewer questions. Pain is something I’m so used to. It is my right hand, my second sight. It is my bed partner and old friend. You get used to pain for long enough and soon, it becomes as necessary as breathing.
It’s never so simple. There is no infinite scale between pain and pleasure; love and hate. The boundaries are much more obscure than the simple black, white, and grey. Pain and pleasure are rings around a person. They double over themselves no more than brother and sister. If you look too closely the boundaries meld together, and neither can be deciphered from the other. In my meager existence, pain is my other half. My pleasure is in my relief from pain. I’m the monk, the ignorant fool, and the defiled virgin.
Normally, I’m all for pain. But this time, I think my own tolerance is tested. I have always hurt my self. But, of course, how would you see it? I was the cold prince; I took what I wanted and never took a backwards glance. I knew my pain in destroying those around me. I knew my relief in building my empire with blood. Hate, gods, I know so well. I know my pain in hate, how it tore at my brittle heart. I know the whispers of relief, when I let it go, for more important things. Like watching you smile. But love, that is another matter entirely. I was broken once, to the point of death, and I had nothing but the love of my father to hold my head up. But he held my arm for the branding iron. He cast the Silenco when I started to scream. And he tutted his disappointment, when I was unable to walk. With love was gone, and hate has become my only source of pain and relief. That is, until you kissed me.
Normally, I’m all for pain. But, you kissed me. And for a while it was the best punishment I could have asked for, because your lips were like the branding iron. And it tore at my heart, it tore at my pride, and it hurt, unlike anything I could have felt. For awhile this was ok, I could build my self back up on this pain. There were rules of course, you didn’t want me destroying your friends, and I didn’t want you destroying mine. I would not tolerate the mention of any sweet words, and nor would you. It was our secret, an unholy embrace. We met all the time, stolen moments and childish antics. I suppose I appealed to your crueler side. I never understood what you got out of it. You were my own personal jailer, every moment was pain, and I relished it. After a while, it became a curiosity as to why our relationship hurt me so. It didn’t take me that long to understand. You were putting me back together. You were pumping my heart with blood and showing me what it was like to be loved through hidden smiles and playful arguments. It took me so long to open my eyes, that by the time I realized I was no longer hurting from your touch I had not the strength to pull away. I was furious, but you smiled. I couldn’t tell you what you did, but you smiled, and it became unimportant. It became sacred. You let me mark you. You let me tell you stories. And I listened to your nightmares. And I held you in your sleep. And I let you capture me.
Normally I’m all for pain. But, you surprised me. I assumed there was some chivalric code that all saviors of the world had to abide. Obviously, no one told you that. You drew me in your arms and whispered your obsession with me. You drew me into your web of lies and I swallowed the hook, bait and all. And then you dumped me. Your eyes begged for a forgiveness that I had not the mind to give. You shouldn’t of looked so betrayed. What do you expect me to do, break down and cry? Pain is my favorite friend; I have no interest of letting you know what I feel. So I let you hold me, I allowed the shock to tear through my system. I allowed it because I could never deny you anything. But I don’t need to tell you that, even though I hinted it. I would have never asked anyone if they were sure, if there was any way to change their mind. All my years of pride and self worthiness shattered into a million pieces when I uttered that soft pea. But you shook your head. And I have no doubt you saw the tear stains on your shirt when you got back to your room. But it doesn’t matter.
Normally I’m all for pain. You went back to your life, and I went back to mine. It wasn’t all that hard really. I locked my self away over the weekend, and let the walls of the dungeon bear the brute of my suffering. This pain I was not used to. It was so much worse that the betrayal of my father. There was potential, and you cut it off. I did not love you, but I could have. And the pain tore me to shreds, and I rode every wave and I let it change me. I saw you with your friends. You still wanted to be my friend, and that was ok. Because I cant deny you anything, even now. Even though the massive wounds in my heart were still bleeding, a little salt never hurt anyone. And who was I to miss an opportunity to build my self up with pain. I warned you once that I was the most jealous creature to live. And you tried to make me prove it. Had you succeed the pretty girl would have been hanging in the dungeon, by her intestines. But you never pushed me that far, and you are no longer my problem. Yet, my soul still claims you as mine, so when others smile at you, I am vividly reminded of where I keep my knives. I have grown cold to you, but I try to smile and end your jokes, when I can. Often I sit and watch you. And wonder if you still bear the mark of my teeth on your flesh. But, you have probably already forgotten, and only you have the power to stifle my claims.
Normally I’m all for pain. But I’ve started to understand the difference, between the pain that makes me stronger, and the pain that makes me weaker. And you have become my greatest weakness. There was a rule in this new game. There would be no mention of our affair. And I made a request. In a moment of desperation I mentioned that you still affected me, and your touch was agony. You never agreed to not touching me but I hoped I made the point. The pain of your presence had no relief. This longing didn’t end, and it slowly drove me insane. You and I both knew that I would not brush you off. So when I asked you for the second to last time not to touch me you didn’t catch the warning plea in my voice. Grant, you were always horrid at reading me. I am a sensuous person, needy for touch and affection, and you ever more so. I think it was due to our sheltered childhoods. We would wrestle all the time and then simply lay in each others arms content. You wanted to play, a wrestle game that you often played with your friends, and I let my self break. As you staggered away from me in disbelief I realized how hard I had hit you. I was so often underestimated, being small in stature and thin for my age, that often I forgot my self how much strength I meticulously stored. Blood was dripping down from your broken nose, staining your lips and chin and quickly turning your shirt red. There were a few drops of blood on the wall and the silence in that moment hurt my ears. Then coldness descended on me like the old friend she was and I asked you for the last time not to touch me. You wouldn’t meet my eyes. But you nodded thoughtfully and walked away.
I don’t know why I did that. Normally I’d rather the agony of your embrace, to harden my shell. I’d rather that sweet pain for the small relief in your smile. But I’ve become broken. I see the way you look at other girls and the pain is so much worse than one of my knives. I just can’t take it anymore. The emotional hell is more than I’m capable of taking. And, its not worth it. Normally I’d rather the pain. Touch me, rape me, and bleed me. But I broke. And I would give up my knives to have you back. But you’re not coming back. And you are my only weakness. I need to cut you off from my life for a while. So I can place what I feel for you in a safe place, where you can’t tap into it at every smile. I’m going to miss you. But if I can't have you, then I will not allow my heart to do the phoenix dance. I’ll simply return to my isolation, and pretend you didn’t show me how to live without pain.