dicta_contrion: (Default)
[personal profile] dicta_contrion
Title: Through His Teeth
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: M
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings/Enticements: bruises (of the hickey/love bite variety), boys being a post-war mess, dark themes, unredeemed Draco, perhaps a bit of mind-fuckery
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Huge thanks to [livejournal.com profile] sophie_french for the eleventh-hour pre-read/beta/reassurance. I've tinkered since, and any lingering mistakes are my own.
Summary: "C’mon then, Potter. Don’t tell me there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted to do to this body.”

My darling [livejournal.com profile] this_bloody_cat,

It's your birthday!! And gosh, that's a day worth celebrating. Knowing you is such a pleasure. Your art, your fic, your modding skills, your clever commentary on life; if I didn't like you so much I'd be dead jealous. But I do like you so much (really quite a lot - you're a bit of a gem, you know?) and wanted to celebrate the occassion of your birthday with a bit of smut. As one does. Only then I got to reading your likes and prompts lists and this whole other thing took shape that's sort of a mish-mash of some of that, and there is still smut - there is! I promise! - but other things as well, like feelings, and brokenness, and things that are perhaps not what they seem, and a pale Draco who bruises easily and...well. I hope you enjoy this whatever-it-is! And most of all, hope you have a wonderful, creative, brilliant, rewarding, happy year ahead!! ♥♥


On AO3/Below on LJ



Through His Teeth


Six days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley declares it “our victory over the dark forces that would divide us.”

Harry is only half-listening, but he catches that bit.

* * *

Fifteen days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly makes Sunday Roast at the Burrow. Her voice still trembles and her knuckles are white around the top of Fred’s empty chair, but she tells them all to “tuck in, for goodness sake. Need a good hearty meal after all we’ve been through.”

Harry doesn’t take a second helping; he can’t stand them knowing he’s still hungry, so hungry, when everyone looks like they’re chewing straw.

* * *

Twenty-two days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione sits them down for a talk about “our future” and “what we’ll be doing next year.” She has pamphlets from the Ministry and a letter from McGonagall.

Harry takes a brochure and ignores her reproachful sigh when she catches him tearing the edge into strips.

* * *

Twenty-seven days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry goes to the Ministry. He has a meeting with Kingsley but he doesn’t make it through the Atrium. There are a hundred people calling his name, crowding around him so thickly he can’t take a step. They all say the same things: “our hero,” “we love you,” “we need you.”

All he can feel are fingers wrapped around his arms, his wrists, his shoulders, like so many Inferi pulling at him, until he slips under icy cold waters.

* * *

It’s not that he’s a bad person. He’s not. He knows he’s not. He, Harry James Potter, is a good person. The kind of person who will walk to his certain death for the people he loves. The kind of person who chews with his mouth closed, and says “please” and “thank you,” and agrees to let the Prophet interview him, and donates money to St Mungo’s and Hogwarts in his own name to be a good role model, and donates thrice as much anonymously, and lets Molly hug him for as long as she wants every time he comes and goes.

It’s just that he’s so hungry. It’s just that he’s so cold.

It’s just, he thinks sometimes, that he wants something that doesn’t belong to “us” or “we.” Wants something that’s his own.

* * *

Twenty-eight days after the Battle of Hogwarts Harry pulls his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and steps through his front door. Someone’s sold him out – his money’s on Mundungus – and there are reporters camped out all up and down the street. He gives them the slip.

He just wants to walk somewhere without anyone grabbing at him. Wants to take long strides and breathe air that doesn’t smell like 12 Grimmauld Place. He walks towards the Thames – just for somewhere to walk – but there are more and more people the closer he gets and when he bumps into two confused Muggles at once he ducks into an alley, hiding himself behind a skip to stuff his cloak into the Mokeskin pouch he still wears.

He has to make decisions. Even when he wants to walk to nowhere in particular, people want something from him, just by dint of their existence. He can’t do it. Just can’t. Should’ve walked east instead of south, gone to the sea and walked into the waves and stayed there, just stayed there, even if with his luck he’ll walk right into a merman hoping for an autograph. Perhaps it’s not too late to try.

Except when he steps around the skip, the street beyond the alley is dauntingly bright and someone else has had the same idea, is leaning against the wall, lanky and pale and staring straight ahead.

Harry takes a step closer. He doesn’t get any further before his alleyway companion turns to look at him.

“You too, Potter?”

He takes a step back, his heart pounding. Of all the possibilities, to be found… to be found is among the worst.

“Reduced to hiding in alleyways? Hiding from the wizards among the Muggles, and the Muggles among the rubbish?”

“Who–?” Harry squints. It’s too dark to see much. Ghostly white skin and a shock of blond hair, but it’s the sneer that makes him certain. “Malfoy.”

“In the flesh.” He spreads his hands. Drops them.

“What are you doing out?”

“Trials don’t start till July. No room in Azkaban for the ‘low-level’ threats. Can’t enforce house arrest without a conviction.” He smirks. “What else is there?”

“They sent you–” Harry surveys his outfit. “–clubbing?”

Malfoy’s laugh is low, sarcastic. “Hardly. They just can’t stop me.” He takes a step closer. “And what else is there, really? When your life might be over at seventeen.” Another step. “Don’t you ever think about it?” He’s within arm’s reach now. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like? To just feel good? Or does the hero still have too much left to lose for all that hedonistic nonsense?”

“No,” Harry croaks.

“No? Too virtuous to let the thought cross your mind?”

“No,” Harry repeats.

“The other, then? Nothing left to lose?”

Harry nods once, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes.

Malfoy snorts. “Find that hard to believe. But then,” he reaches out to run two fingers down the outside of Harry’s arm, “who am I to argue with the Boy Who Lived?”

Harry’s frozen to the spot. Not that he’s been asked for a response, really; he’s fairly sure it’s rhetorical. Which is for the best; he doesn’t have an answer.

“Where are you going tonight, then?”

Harry shrugs. “Nowhere.”

Malfoy looks him up and down and Harry tries not to squirm in his damp trainers, his baggy jeans. No one was supposed to see him, after all. But Malfoy – Malfoy is clearly looking. “I bet you don’t even know how to feel good, do you? So noble. So self-sacrificing.”

He scrambles for a retort, but Harry finds he can’t really disagree.

Malfoy comes to a stop inches from Harry’s face. “That? The heroic aversion to pleasure? Never really been a problem for me.”

Harry risks a look at Malfoy. His eyes are lined with black, his lips are plump and glistening. His skin radiates heat.

“This nowhere you’re going. Why don’t you take me with you?”

* * *

It’s so late that it’s technically the twenty-ninth day after the Battle of Hogwarts when Harry breaks his own Fidelius to let Draco Malfoy into 12 Grimmauld.

He is expecting rude remarks. He doesn’t get them. Instead, Malfoy pushes him against the nearest wall, almost sends the back of Harry’s skull into the bottom of a mounted elf-head plaque, and growls, “Bedroom?”

“Upstairs.” Harry points at the staircase behind him.

Malfoy doesn’t wait for an invitation, just gives Harry a look and walks.

It’s when his shirt drops over the railing and lands at Harry’s feet that Harry finds himself moved to follow.

He takes the stairs slowly, half afraid of what he’ll find. Doors are being thrown open and slamming shut again, footsteps pacing across the landing.

By the time Harry gets to the top, Malfoy’s settled on a doorway. He’s down to his trousers, the top button undone, waiting in the doorway with a hip cocked to one side and his arms folded.

“This one.”

It’s odd, to have Malfoy step aside as if to invite him into his own bedroom.

He still goes, though.

Malfoy turns in behind him, blocking the light from the hallway. “Strip.”

Harry turns back to him, startled.

Malfoy snorts, an amused half-laugh that leaves Harry feeling thoroughly wrong-footed. “You really don’t know how to do this, do you?”

Harry doesn’t. Saying so, and saying so to Malfoy, though…

“Fine then.” Malfoy sidesteps him, clears a space among the rumpled sheets, sits on the edge of his mattress. “Let me show you.”

His trousers slide off like water, pooling at his feet. He hasn’t got any pants on. Harry’s seen men naked before, but not like this, not with this intent behind Malfoy’s eyes.

Malfoy slides back, lowering himself to his elbows and opening his legs so his cock, half-hard, hangs heavy between his thighs. “C’mon then, Potter. Don’t tell me there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted to do to this body.”

And there is. Merlin, there is. He’s wanted to punch it. Wanted to kick it. Wanted to hex it. Wanted to wrap a time-turner around it and undo the web of scars he’s left on Malfoy’s chest. Wanted to make it invisible, irrelevant. Wanted to disappear it. Wanted to wrestle it to the ground and hold it there until Malfoy can’t do anything at all. Until he can’t do anything, for holding Malfoy down.

Malfoy trails a hand down his inner thigh. Harry watches. The skin looks so soft. Harry’s stomach aches with the slow-burning hunger that’s been gnawing at him for weeks and he wants.

And though he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what this is or why he’s doing it, he does know that he wants. And that Malfoy seems to want to give.

It’s experimental at first. A knee between Malfoy’s two. The slow lean forward. The dropping of a hand next to Malfoy’s face.

He tries the only thing he knows to try. Lowers his head towards Malfoy’s face, closes his eyes, parts his lips.

He’s not sure what happens first. Maybe the disdainful snort. Maybe the turning away, so he meets the back of Malfoy’s jaw. But it’s not a kiss. Not lips against lips.

Something harder. Full of unexpected concavities. Malfoy’s flesh is soft, but the tendons in his neck are not. They strain against – into – Harry’s mouth and he sucks against them without knowing what he’s doing.

Must be something right though; Malfoy’s hand wraps around his head, presses him closer.

And he goes. Pulls the flesh into his mouth. Scrapes his teeth against the tendon. Tastes the bitter remnants of aftershave and soap, the naked promise of skin.

He feels more than he hears Malfoy’s moan, vibrating through his trachea and against Harry’s teeth.

Licks the spot and moves down, biting Malfoy’s clavicle and laving the ridge of bone that drops down into a divot above his shoulder.

A moan, again, and more pressure at the back of his skull.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that Malfoy’s knocked his knees out from under him, that they’re pressed together, chest to chest through Harry’s t-shirt. Cock to cock through Harry’s jeans. That Malfoy’s hips are rolling against his. That he’s responding in kind. That he’s hard, his thighs trembling, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers a throaty groan that doesn’t correspond to another bite, and notices that Malfoy’s fallen, limp and panting, back against the bed.

But it’s nothing to this fullness in his mouth. To the endless supply of skin.

Malfoy pulls him up by his hair. His nascent whine doesn't makes it past his lips when he sees what he’s done. The trail of red rings that mark Malfoy’s skin. Evidence, incontrovertible, that Harry's been there.

He can’t stop staring.

Malfoy’s smile barely makes it into Harry's periphery, and his words sound like they’re spoken through cotton.

“Well, Potter. Might make something of you, yet.”

* * *

On the thirty-fifth day after the Battle of Hogwarts, Malfoy lets Harry suck his way across his chest. Malfoy screams when Harry takes a nipple between his teeth, but holds him there all the same.

On the forty-second day after the Battle of Hogwarts, Malfoy lets Harry leave a trail up his inner arm and down his sternum. Harry loves the way the bruises seem to move with Malfoy's heartbeat.

On the forty-ninth day after the Battle of Hogwarts, it’s Malfoy’s inner thigh. Harry thinks he could stay there for hours. For ever. It’s so soft. Perfect. This skin has never seen the sun, Harry thinks. Has never seen anything but bubble baths and fancy creams and it’s so smooth he can hardly believe it belongs to a man who can be so rough, who can dig his nails into Harry’s back and yell for “more, you fucker,” and squeeze his legs together until Harry is surrounded by him, until he couldn’t pull his mouth away if he wanted to. Not that he does. No. Wants to take this tender flesh, the muscle, the only hint of fat - of softness - he’s yet found into his mouth. Wants to pull everything he can through Malfoy’s pores.

On the fifty-sixth day after the Battle of Hogwarts, Malfoy tells him it’s time for more. He’s invited before. Suggested. But “feel something good, you fucking coward” is not a request.“Take me” and “have me” are not commands for Harry to ignore. He knows he could say no, but when he sees the bruises Malfoy’s left unhealed – which, with his legs spread open so shamelessly, make a near-perfect line to Malfoy’s arse – he only wonders how he didn’t see it sooner, what he’s so clearly wanted to go all along.

He buries himself inside of Malfoy, fucks him until he’s well past speech, bites down on his shoulder, and comes.

“Good,” Malfoy whispers after, carding Harry’s hair. “Good.”

Harry smiles. He can, sometimes, now he’s not so hungry.

* * *

The sixtieth day after the Battle of Hogwarts marks the start of the trials. Easiest cases first. Stan Shunpike, the Cattermoles. Three dozen, at least, easily dispatched on the first of July.

Draco Malfoy is due to sit before the Wizengamot on the second.

Harry was sure he'd come to the first day, to see the innocent freed. And fo the second week, to see the guilty condemned. But these few days of ambiguous cases...what to say of Narcissa Malfoy, who had saved his life weeks after she would've trussed him up and sent him to Voldemort on a silver platter? What to say of Gregory Goyle, undoubtedly too stupid to know any better, but dangerous all the same?

What to say of Draco Malfoy?

Harry hates seeing him like this, arms chained to the Wizengamot’s interrogation chair. Hates seeing him covered head to toe in stiff formal robes that swallow his neck and hide the purple oval at one wrist, the bite marks at the other. It makes Harry's mouth taste like sawdust. Makes his tongue so dry he doesn’t know whether he could get a word out, even if he knew which ones to say.

His heart pounds as he takes the stand. An Auror waits at the bottom of the stairs he’s just ascended. There are two more on the floor, one at each of Malfoy’s elbows. Malfoy feels so far away. It all feels so far away, and he's hungry again, and the room is almost as cold as it was with Dementors circling overhead, and where to begin, where to go, with him and Malfoy and the things they’d said and done in the course of a war?

He scans the room. Catches Malfoy’s eye. Catches the rustling of fabric as Malfoy, ever so slightly, parts his legs and licks his lips.

Harry swallows.

The words come.

“Draco Malfoy is responsible for saving my life on no fewer than two occasions. Once at Malfoy Manor after our capture by a group of snatchers, and again during the Battle of Hogwarts, as his attempts to dissuade his friend gave us advance notice of the threat of Fiendfyre….”

He speaks to the Wizengamot with conviction. With certainty. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Draco smile.

* * *

The sixty-third day after the Battle of Hogwarts is a Saturday just like all the other Saturdays that have marked the last month of Harry’s life. He spends the afternoon cleaning house. Makes a light dinner. Takes a bath.

He thinks of Malfoy’s inner thigh. Wants to know if the bruises are still there. If he’ll be permitted to leave more.

He climbs into his sheets, naked, to wait.

He thinks of Malfoy’s back, as yet unmarked. Wonders if a shoulder blade would be as satisfying as the inside of a knee, or the arch of a rib.

He turns the covers down, leaves them pooled around his waist; Malfoy likes him like that. Available. Waiting for permission.

He wonders if there’s something special ahead. It’s half-eleven. Malfoy’s always come around ten.

He plumps the pillows. Wonders if Malfoy’s celebrating. A dinner, perhaps. Something with his mother. It’s not as though the two of them have the sort of arrangement where you owl ahead.

He lies back against the pillow and wills himself to keep his hands about the covers. He closes his eyes and thinks of Malfoy’s biceps, his calves, the long lines of his torso when he’s arching into Harry’s mouth. Thinks of the taste of him. The fullness that will finally come when Malfoy’s skin is blossoming red between his lips.

And he waits.

Date: 2015-06-05 06:35 pm (UTC)
snowgall: (close-up)
From: [personal profile] snowgall
Oh I loved the way that Draco and Harry meet here, that it seems so serendipitous, and the way Draco immediately takes advantage of the situation. And the description of his seduction of Harry is wonderful. I loved that Harry is inexperienced and awkward and Draco confident and take-charge. Fascinating story.

Date: 2015-06-05 07:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Thank you!! I'm so glad to hear this; writing short is always a struggle for me (thus trying to do more of it) and I'm so happy to hear that all of this stuff still came through. ♥♥

Date: 2015-06-05 07:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] blithelybonny.livejournal.com
This was just so deliciously sensual. Harry's perfect inexperience, but the hunger and the instinct leading him to those marks, mmmm. Really beautiful.

Date: 2015-06-06 01:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Thank you!!! the hunger and the instinct - that's so much of what I was hoping to get at, and so happy it came through!

Date: 2015-06-05 08:42 pm (UTC)
capitu: (sultry)
From: [personal profile] capitu
I just love the progression of the story. The count of the days, the bruises, not feeling quite the same hunger any more.

He scans the room. Catches Malfoy’s eye. Catches the rustling of fabric as Malfoy, ever so slightly, parts his legs and licks his lips.

I loved Draco. I loved the 'more, you fucker', fucking sexy, and he continues to being such a mystery. I'm going to DIE if he keeps Harry waiting [much longer]. I will!

Date: 2015-06-06 01:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Thank you!! Also: don't die! Please don't! Then how will you imagine what happens next?

So glad you enjoyed and as always, thank you for leaving such lovely comments!! ♥♥♥

Date: 2015-06-06 08:10 pm (UTC)
capitu: (sultry)
From: [personal profile] capitu
Christ. Of course he's coming back. I reckon Draco was trying to prove something, maybe?

At the same time, there's something beautifully daunting of Harry simply waiting. Ultimately though, it'd kill me (really!) if Draco doesn't return, because Harry - he came alive again through this thing they were doing, yeah? I imagine it'd be hard to swallow, to trust again (himself, others) if he's left to wait.

Date: 2015-06-05 08:53 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lq-traintracks.livejournal.com
OMGGGGGGGGG.

What are you doing to me right now??? Because it's heavily implied that he's NOT COMING. That he used Harry. And I'm here to beg you to tell me that's not so, because this story is so achingly wonderfully beautiful and hot and angsty and it's glorious, and I don't want to cry, Dicta! Waaaaaaaaahhhh!

Gorgeous, no matter what.

But please?

Date: 2015-06-06 02:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Hey, what do I know, I'm just the author? Dead upon posting! But if, let's say, you know, just for the sake of argument, that Draco isn't coming, and that he wasusing Harry, but it's all been so fulfilling for Harry and Harry's just put his neck out for Draco...odds that Harry leaves that one alone? I'm guessing slim. And that, therefore, even if Draco is off somewhere being smug and feeling suddenly and mysteriously a bit empty it probably wouldn't be the last they see of each other. At least, that's my bet.

Also: unlimited tissues available as needed, and thank you. That is lovely of you and I'm so happy you liked it!!
Edited Date: 2015-06-06 02:05 am (UTC)

Date: 2015-06-05 11:23 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
OH MY GOD OH NO OH NO GOD HELP

NONONO HOW COULD YOU

*DYING*

AND THE TITLE NOOOOOOOO

I SHOULD STOP SHOUTING PERHAPS BUT I AM DISTRAUGHT WITH GRIEF DAMN YOU FIENDISH BEAUTIFUL WRITING PERSON

OH GOD.

oh no

*sits staring at screen sadly forever*

Date: 2015-06-05 11:26 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
THOSE PLUMPED PILLOWS ARE KILLING ME

I hate this fandom

there are people in it who use their powers for evil

DICTA I TRUSTED YOU

Date: 2015-06-05 11:31 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
I may forgive you in a few years time. Maybe.

I'm not sure though.

He turns the covers down, leaves them pooled around his waist; Malfoy likes him like that. Available. Waiting for permission.

NO I DON'T THINK I WILL

He wonders if there’s something special ahead

jesus twist that knife. I'm a puddle. A puddle of angst. You puddled me good. Oof.

Date: 2015-06-05 11:51 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
I still love you. I hope you know that. It's some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. I'm so oofed I can't leave a proper comment. Just shouting and garbledness. You are a genius. But, really, that title alone earns you a spot in Azkaban as far as I'm concerned. <3

Date: 2015-06-06 02:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Okay, okay, three comments worth of snark is probably enough. Your comments really do make my days, you know. Ever so happy that I've hit genius level. Perhaps the Dementros will be too confused by Muggle devices to take my laptop? I'd have plenty of time to write more things just like this in Azkaban...

Damnit. I can't help the snark.

The point is: Thank you and I adore you. ♥

Also did you know, I planned to take this whole week of from reading fic because I've got work to do, and lots of it, and then you go and write something and everywhere I turn all I see is "READ BIRDS' NEW FIC IT WILL KILL YOU DEAD YOU'LL LOVE IT" and every night I have stared at my phone and seriously considered giving up all resolve and am just barely hanging in there. Two more days and I can hardly fucking wait and there is a cell with your name on it. Azkaban neighbors?

Date: 2015-06-06 07:52 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
Ah, see, I wish my fic WOULD kill you dead, in revenge, but I fear my murderous powers are that of an infant compared to yours, dammit.

*goes to edit fic so that everyone dies most tragically. Twice*

Date: 2015-06-06 02:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
You puddled me good. Heh. That's what Harry said.

Too soon?

Date: 2015-06-06 07:31 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
HEARTLESS TROLLOP

Date: 2015-06-06 02:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Oh, birds. Puddle of birds. I'm so sorry. I will only ever write you happy fluff ever again. All they will do is frolic in fields, perhaps in tunics, and make up darling pet names for one another and have picnics and pick daisies and perhaps make chains out of them. Yes, that's it. Everything will just be daisy chains forever, and all will be right with the world.

Date: 2015-06-06 07:34 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
*breathes into a paper bag*

Good. Yes. That's good. Daisies. I think I might actually make it through this. Could there be bunny rabbits*?

I like the tunics especially. Can there be art of this? With a rainbow stretching over them, and hearts all around?



*I totally typed bummy rabbits.

Date: 2015-06-08 02:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
*dies laughing at bummy rabbits*
*contemplates canceling the entire day in favor of attempting this art*

Date: 2015-06-06 02:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Will you please comment on everything, always? I've been sitting here laughing and laughing evilly so heartily that I've had to explain myself and gosh but that was a moment. "Well you see, I wrote some gay pornography and it was evil, but also hilarious. As one does."

Date: 2015-06-06 07:38 pm (UTC)
birdsofshore: (curlew)
From: [personal profile] birdsofshore
I've been LOLing about it myself. In between CRYING FOREVER, obviously. I never read angst, but I just walked straight into this one, whistling a happy tune. I basically got wildly excited on seeing you'd posted, and whooshed through the warnings chuckling fondly to myself.

"Bruises (of the hickey/love bite variety), OOH, YES PLEASE, boys being a post-war mess, HAHA YES, dark themes, OOH SMASHING, unredeemed Draco, YES MY WORD YES, perhaps a bit of mind-fuckery, SUPER, CAN'T WAIT"

Then was utterly blindsided when indeed, there WAS dark themes, and mindfuckery, and EVERYTHING HURTING FOR EVER AND EVER.

*awards self Order of Dorkbrain, Second Class*

Date: 2015-06-08 02:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Good time for me to try out this new "everything under 5k" bit?

Just think of the bummy rabbits. (still laughing) deep breaths and bummy rabbits. And you know, probably everything turns out just fine, really, I'm sure, right?

Date: 2015-06-06 06:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] candamira.livejournal.com

Oh Dicta, I love what you did here! Harry's lonesomeness and his hunger, you wrote it so beautifully, and then, when he satisfies this hunger by sucking and chewing Malfoy (to me he is Malfox here because of his calculating nature) is just so sensual and perfect. And the implication in the end, that Harry waits in vain, that he has been used when he was most defenceless and trusting - wonderful in a very sad way! Draco, so cunning and manipulative here, self-confident and Slytherin to the heart, is my favourit, can't hate him for what he's doing. Thank you, I really adore your strong writing and your ability to wake all my feelings. ♥

Date: 2015-06-08 02:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Thank you so much for such an amazing comment. As you know, when one writes it's in a certain amount of isolation. To me, it's the most rewarding thing to hear that the feelings and ideas you've been trying to create and convey have made it onto the page and across the internet, and I really can't thank you enough for sharing your reactions. Thrilled that you liked this!!

Date: 2015-06-06 01:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] this-bloody-cat.livejournal.com
I'm so ridiculously glad you wrote this for me, dear god, you can't even imagine... it's beautiful, it's so incredibly beautiful! And well, I have to say the pleasure is entirely mutual -- I'm so glad I got to stalk you know you as well, mostly because everything you do is absolutely brilliant: your stories, your recs, even your thoughts are brilliant! (They've made me reconsider my position on things more than once, you know? They had to be mentioned! :D)

So basically, thank you tonnes for this wonderful thing, really, thank you for it and for your birthday wishes (which were lovely OMG!), and for generally putting up with my messages all over the place LOL SORRY NOT SORRY, and for making me a happier person in general -- always important! ♥♥♥

Date: 2015-06-08 02:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Thank you for having such a tantalizing list of likes and prompts, and for being such an incredible person all year round. It was a pleasure to write for you and I'm so, so, so glad that you like this. ♥♥♥

Date: 2015-06-24 11:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] josephinestone.livejournal.com
How can you just stop there?

Poor Harry - just waiting there for all eternity in my mind.

Date: 2015-06-24 06:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dicta-contrion.livejournal.com
Aww, poor Harry. Though, the beauty of open endings, you can always think him a happier fate if you're so inclined!

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