hd365_mod (hd365_mod) wrote in hd_365, @ 2006-02-28 09:12:00 |
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Current mood: | calm |
Entry tags: | prompt 5: fire, ru-fic |
Fire
Original poster: rurounihime
Title: Fire
Author: rurounihime
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,334
Summary: The properties of fire.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. Fire is not mine. Basically, I don't own anything.
...
Fire consumes. It moves with a purpose one can only grasp at helplessly, slides inside and sparks against every surface until it burns hot enough to make the burned cry out.
Draco cried out that morning when Harry took him against the wall, relished every hiss and flicker of his own voice. Harry’s mouth plied him so deeply; his fingers were hotter than brimstone against his skin, and they ate at everything he had to give.
~
Fire chokes. Snuffs out in a waiting hush, the palest whisper of smoke under a door, sucking back in and holding itself in wait for the gasp of fresh air into the room.
Draco’s mouth is full of soot. He pushes through a battered wall and the smoke licks into his lungs as if it knew he was coming. He cannot see through the wall of thick grey, but he knows, he knows he only has to go further into this burning cinder of a building to find what – who – he seeks.
He hates and loves Harry all at once. For being here. For being who he is. For being who he is.
He stumbles through the smog.
~
Fire explodes. A whipcrack on the air, heat that takes the finest of hairs right off skin. Incendiary, perfect and rolling, fingers lashing out in liquid curls, smoke chasing behind. It bursts into life and becomes.
Harry’s body was taut and slick against his, pushing him into the wall harder than was comfortable, but it was his wall, his lover, and he would take it how he liked. Harry deep inside him, fingernails pinching the flesh of his back. Draco liked the heat and the frenzy. Green flames licked in Harry’s eyes as he jerked, clutched, came. He bit Draco’s lips and Draco moaned as the explosion battered him inside and out.
~
Fire razes. It destabilizes and eats away at foundations, takes what was known only an instant ago and twists it into something black and unrecognizable, something char-coloured, glowing beneath. It eats out cores. It scalds and blisters until the pain is unbearable, and the loss too horrific to face.
A ceiling beam glances off his shoulder and cracks in half. Draco can still remember Harry’s hands on his hips, feel the bruise of three fingers in the hollow of one elbow. The fire of teeth at his throat and the first white ache inside when he knew for sure what was coming. He remembers the way Harry moaned his name, and the memory scorches him like the dancing flames all around.
He hears a moan – next room – and feels panic like he’s never felt. What is once burned comes back twisted, and even the sound is different. He struggles through the doorway and sees ash and skin and dark hair. And feels his core begin a slow crumble.
~
Fire is unpredictable. It goes where it will, it follows the wind and its nature. It listens to no voice, save its own. It flares hot and heavy, then cools and sweeps along like a flood of molten lava. Fire is predictable in its unpredictability.
A raid had gone wrong. Draco threw down his half eaten sandwich and Apparated with the others, cursing the incompetence that trapped Aurors in burning buildings, that left dangerous wizards to walk free, that led him today to the edge of this billowing pyre. He shaded his eyes, felt the heat, and judged.
Devonshire. Sounded familiar. Draco brushed a hand through hair already grainy with cinders and sought for the patience to be heroic. It did not come easily, but there was enough stubborn fury to fill him twice over. He snapped subordinates into line, directed entry points into the inferno.
Devonshire. Draco frowned at Shacklebolt, a soot-covered figure, still foreboding through his coughing. Herding Aurors about, taking headcounts. Missing. Missing people.
Devonshire. A raid. Familiar.
Draco stared at the flaming, collapsing building. And suddenly knew who had been heroic there.
Began to run.
~
Fire ignites. It catches a sliver of breath and blooms into furious gale. It forces back, it follows, it demands until it is quenched, and it is never, never quenched.
They were already late for work. Draco came out of the bedroom, tie in hand, and found himself being pressed against the wall, hard. Harry’s hands tugged at his clothing, tongue a furious heat, sucking at his pulse point. Draco growled at the inconvenience of having his body bared so unceremoniously, so soon after being clothed. Harry lifted him against the wall with a fierce and sudden heat.
~
Fire lifts. It bears sparks into the wind, paper suddenly lighter than feathers. Up into the sky with a strength born of heat, frenzy. It carries fabric in ballooning shapes, singes roof beams with streaks of charcoal, flares into white-hot pillars. It lifts high and it carries away.
Draco cannot see, but he can feel Harry’s weight in his arms and sense the panting rasp of air into Harry’s lungs. He is not strong and yet he runs. Not strong, and yet Harry is in his arms without the aid of magic. He does not feel the searing heat at his sides, licking his cheeks and curling at his hair. He is someone else, something else. He can see that morning, this day, and tomorrow all at once.
He can see the light of outdoors and feel the cool air whispering at his face.
He can see what it will all become if Harry does not return to it with him.
~
Fire burns. It slips along edges and digs deep into crevices. It finds the way to feed itself, stokes cooled coals into blistering heat. It teases and licks, it sears like the hottest ice. It rolls over in sensual waves, singes back on itself, and builds and builds and builds and
Harry rocked inside of him, frenzied jerks that touched every wall, encouraged every sound Draco had left inside. Harry, fuck, you bloody arse, gods, ah! fuck you, oh gods, fuck me, yesyesyessss, Harry, Har- fuck, right, there, rightYESthere, fucking- ah- ah- m-more-
Draco bit through his lip and tasted the red colour of flame. Harry’s tongue slithered over his jaw, his hands wound raw, burning swathes over Draco’s thighs and back. Draco wrapped himself tighter, pushed higher. His muscles ached. Harry’s open shirt fanned them both as they moved. Fingers climbed into his hair, gripped and rubbed and rolled his head, and Draco sighed into oblivion and let the burn take him limb by limb, second by ticking second, until Harry cursed a string of blue hellfire and came inside of him so hard it hurt.
Draco came on the backdraft of it and felt himself rise from the ashes. He found Harry’s mouth smouldering, and melted into the residual heat there.
~
Fire extinguishes. It snuffs out in a distant shiver of ash. Fragments break apart and scatter to the wind, lost heaps of what has been torn. The flame dies a lingering death and then blinks out in a hush of wretched silence, waiting until the very last for another wayward spark.
Draco rocks. Back and forth in a quiet, white-washed room. The air is cold and muted. He rubs his face and clasps his hands, fitting clenched fingers to bloodless-white patches of skin. Squeezes. Shakes.
They’ve healed the burns. Harry’s cheek is now peach again, his hair the soft down of sable. His chest rises and falls with nary a rasp, but Draco can still hear the sound of it quivering in his lungs. His head pounds and his throat is dry, but Harry still smells of smoke and embers, and fear.
Draco rocks. Back and forth, as if shifting in a slow wind. Presses his head into his hands. Clasps at Harry’s fingers. Squeezes his eyes shut. Interlocks his own fingers again and whispers nonsense – pleasepleasepleaseplease - into the cup of his hands. The minutes tick by and Harry sleeps.
~fin~