(no subject)
For siriaeve's 18th birthday. A sort of crimefic/Bad Faith parody which in truth, is not very good at being either a crimefic or a parody. Some of the horrible lines in it are intentional, one of the originals were, "I'm going to castrate you with garden shears," remember.
Oh yes, and siriaeve is the whore who makes a cameo...
AUGUST 16th, 2011
PUTNEY
Harry took a deep drag on his cigarette, still staring at the woman in front of him. His expression didn't change.
"How was it?" she purred, still kneeling on the wrinkled sheets, her bra unhooked. Leaning in closer, "Another go?"
"No."
Sounding disappointed, "Anything wrong?"
"No."
She placed her chin by his neck, hair falling over one eye like Veronica Lake. "Fill me with your mantool." Her voice was filled with fuck me and undertones of red lipstick.
Harry flinched, then reached over and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "Mmhmm," he said noncommittally.
She laid back on the pillow, sprawled like some FHM centerfold. "I'll make it half-price," she offered.
"There's something else you can do for me."
"I like it all ways," the whore said, winking. "Anyway you want me..."
Harry lit another cigarette. "Not that kind." Sliding back under the sheets, he automatically found that her hand was on his inner thigh again.
"Your hour's not up yet... what is it?"
"Do you know Brian Wright?"
"Intimately." Her hand moved to an even more sensitive place but Harry was curiously unresponsive.
He rolled over and she sighed in disappointment, but he was only picking up a sheaf of notes. Placing them in a creative place, "What do you know about him?"
"Well," she started off warmly, "last time I saw him, he made me be the teacher and he was bad student and I made him stay after class and then -"
"No, not that. Anything else?"
"Something about meeting Finnigan..." she trailed off, expectant.
Another note peeled off the top.
Suddenly, her face hardened and her back stiffened. "Wait, what was your name again?"
"Why the sudden interest?"
"What was it?" she insisted, pulling up the strap of her bra.
He told her and she scrambled off the bed, grabbing her clothing, her money. Fuck you, she hissed, trying to get away only Harry was expecting that and the drawer snapped open and she was looking up, the whites of her eyes standing out, still in nothing but her underwear, her hands frantically lunging for something, anything. He wasn't going to get anything more out of her, not even a good fuck, and he almost regretted shooting her, and her hands were out in front of her like she was trying to stop the bullet from entering and there was so much red blood that splattered from the hole in her chest against the sheets and wall... shit, that was a lot of blood. She moaned, the last time she would fake an orgasm, and he shot her again.
Whore.
* * *
Harry was higher than the fucking moon. Draco was also giving him a messily efficient blowjob while he was driving and he would occasionally veer off track. He hadn't regretted cashing in on Draco's suggestion of becoming his sex slave.
"Haaarry," Draco said, stopping for a moment. "Are we there yet?"
His foot slammed down on the break to avoid wrapping the Mercedes around the telephone pole. "Get back to work."
Draco more than willingly obliged.
* * *
In an extremely run-down and excessively seedy part of the East End, Harry stopped the car and Draco finally extricated himself from between Harry's legs.
"Hallo, Brian," Harry said. The man counting money from a leather briefcase looked up, his eyes narrowing.
The doors behind them opened behind them really, really hard.
"Fuck! They're here!"
* * *
NOVEMBER 10th, 2001
JAIL.
"I'm with Ginny now," Draco announced. Harry, sitting on the edge of his cot, didn't even look up.
"My trial's coming up next week."
"She's great in bed."
"I might get off in five years with parole."
"I wonder if I should get her the pink one or the black one for her birthday..."
"Get me out of here."
Draco went over to the stainless steel toilet and looked at it with distaste. "You live here?"
"Are you a bloody wizard or not, Malfoy?"
Why can't I write a non-serious death scene?!
Oh yes, and siriaeve is the whore who makes a cameo...
AUGUST 16th, 2011
PUTNEY
Harry took a deep drag on his cigarette, still staring at the woman in front of him. His expression didn't change.
"How was it?" she purred, still kneeling on the wrinkled sheets, her bra unhooked. Leaning in closer, "Another go?"
"No."
Sounding disappointed, "Anything wrong?"
"No."
She placed her chin by his neck, hair falling over one eye like Veronica Lake. "Fill me with your mantool." Her voice was filled with fuck me and undertones of red lipstick.
Harry flinched, then reached over and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "Mmhmm," he said noncommittally.
She laid back on the pillow, sprawled like some FHM centerfold. "I'll make it half-price," she offered.
"There's something else you can do for me."
"I like it all ways," the whore said, winking. "Anyway you want me..."
Harry lit another cigarette. "Not that kind." Sliding back under the sheets, he automatically found that her hand was on his inner thigh again.
"Your hour's not up yet... what is it?"
"Do you know Brian Wright?"
"Intimately." Her hand moved to an even more sensitive place but Harry was curiously unresponsive.
He rolled over and she sighed in disappointment, but he was only picking up a sheaf of notes. Placing them in a creative place, "What do you know about him?"
"Well," she started off warmly, "last time I saw him, he made me be the teacher and he was bad student and I made him stay after class and then -"
"No, not that. Anything else?"
"Something about meeting Finnigan..." she trailed off, expectant.
Another note peeled off the top.
Suddenly, her face hardened and her back stiffened. "Wait, what was your name again?"
"Why the sudden interest?"
"What was it?" she insisted, pulling up the strap of her bra.
He told her and she scrambled off the bed, grabbing her clothing, her money. Fuck you, she hissed, trying to get away only Harry was expecting that and the drawer snapped open and she was looking up, the whites of her eyes standing out, still in nothing but her underwear, her hands frantically lunging for something, anything. He wasn't going to get anything more out of her, not even a good fuck, and he almost regretted shooting her, and her hands were out in front of her like she was trying to stop the bullet from entering and there was so much red blood that splattered from the hole in her chest against the sheets and wall... shit, that was a lot of blood. She moaned, the last time she would fake an orgasm, and he shot her again.
Whore.
* * *
Harry was higher than the fucking moon. Draco was also giving him a messily efficient blowjob while he was driving and he would occasionally veer off track. He hadn't regretted cashing in on Draco's suggestion of becoming his sex slave.
"Haaarry," Draco said, stopping for a moment. "Are we there yet?"
His foot slammed down on the break to avoid wrapping the Mercedes around the telephone pole. "Get back to work."
Draco more than willingly obliged.
* * *
In an extremely run-down and excessively seedy part of the East End, Harry stopped the car and Draco finally extricated himself from between Harry's legs.
"Hallo, Brian," Harry said. The man counting money from a leather briefcase looked up, his eyes narrowing.
The doors behind them opened behind them really, really hard.
"Fuck! They're here!"
* * *
NOVEMBER 10th, 2001
JAIL.
"I'm with Ginny now," Draco announced. Harry, sitting on the edge of his cot, didn't even look up.
"My trial's coming up next week."
"She's great in bed."
"I might get off in five years with parole."
"I wonder if I should get her the pink one or the black one for her birthday..."
"Get me out of here."
Draco went over to the stainless steel toilet and looked at it with distaste. "You live here?"
"Are you a bloody wizard or not, Malfoy?"
Why can't I write a non-serious death scene?!