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slytherinserpentine · 5 years

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Break-up Ballet

SOME SMUT, SORT OF FLANGSTY I GUESS, POST WAR AU

Ballet Dancer!Draco

2k words

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Harry heaved an impatient sigh, glancing around the swamp that is his room. Clothes were strewn haphazardly throughout the place, draped along chairs and furniture that were barely visible through piles of laundry. What the hell is somebody supposed to wear to a ballet, anyway?

He snatched his Ever-Inking Quill™, courtesy of Cho’s newly opened stationary shop in Diagon Alley, and scratched a brief note to Hermione, which read:

What the hell is somebody supposed to wear to a ballet?

- HP

“Take that to ‘Mione, please, Reggie.” He whispered to his new barn owl, clicking his teeth gently. He cooed lightly, taking the parchment in his beak. Harry gave his wing a light stroke, and sent him off.

It wasn’t long before he returned, parchment tucked gently in his talons, and Hermione’s neat print scrawled along in bold ink.

Wear that white collared shirt you have, with black trousers and a black tie. Nice shoes as well. Dress smartly, at least.

- HG

“Thanks, Hermione,” He mumbled to himself. “And thank you Reggie, you handsome bird.” Reggie chirped appreciatively, pushing his beak against the ball of his palm. He smiled a little. Reg was a great owl, he really was, but Harry still missed Hedwig dearly. He only got a new bird out of necessity.

Harry finished getting ready, thanks to Hermione’s help, and stared at his mirror reflection. God, his friends were right. He did look like he needed a night off work.

The bags under his eyes were heavy, and prominent. His eyes looked sunken into his school. Even with all the extra product, his hair was a wild tangle of curls, grown out for far too long. His lips were chapped and cracked, and his shoulders looked heavy, slumped over and exhausted. He looked exhausted.

Ever since he and Draco split up- he winced at the thought- which was over a year ago, work has consumed him, in a way.

He walked out of his apartment with a determination to have one good night. At least one. It’s been too long.

The London air was chilly, and bit at his ears until they went numb. He walked along an old, damp sidewalk, riddled with weeds, and counted the cracks. He could smell stale cigarettes and perfume, and watched the ground for shadows cast by the sunset-colored street lights. The walk to the theatre wasn’t bad.

“Hey, mate, good to see you,” Ron grinned, clapping him on the bag on sight. His giddiness was contagious, and Harry found himself laughing a little.

“Harry! You look great,” Hermione wrapped him in a warm hug. For a second, the familiar scent of old books and apples confronted him. Hermione always did smell like home.

He hugged her back tightly, “Hey, guys.”

“So, let me give you a quick rundown on this event,” She said with business-like professionalism, and Harry felt himself melt into the familiarity of it. He was glad his friends never changed. “This company is world-famous. They’ve won several international competitions, and are known to be one of the most competitive and aggressive in the nation. So just, be respectful.”

“Yes, m’am.” Ron jokingly saluted her, wearing a teasing smile. She hit his shoulder, but laughed along anyway.

They quickly found their seats, and the ballet started shortly after. Harry wasn’t as bored as he expected to be. The dancers graced the stage in beautiful, synchronized movements that were beyond impressive. The group dances, however, were not nearly as interesting as the final event.

“And finally, a highly-anticipated solo from one of the UK’s most talented dancers: Draco Malfoy himself.”

A wave of applause overtook the crowd, just at his name. Harry blinked vacantly, and everyone around him suddenly became a blur of unfocused faces and far-away people. Draco Malfoy. He swallowed hard, and ignored Hermione and Ron’s concerned whispers.

Had he been smart, Harry would have left the theatre then and there. But echoes of memories played over in his head, uninterrupted by the heavy claps from either side of him. Slow dancing in the kitchen to Elvis. Kissing and grinding against each other, music blasting from the muggle speakers, almost loud enough to draw out their moans and whispers.

Their song. A muggle song, called “Old Money.” Lana Del Ray. Draco loved her voice.

Harry thought he was imagining it when that song started quietly through the speakers, but he wasn’t. Draco walked slowly across the stage, though ‘walked’ doesn’t feel like the right word. He might as well have been floating.

The words started, and Draco began. Harry took a harsh breath in. Draco’s body become fluid, powered only by rhythm and momentum. His muscles rippled under his skin, and a forlorn sort of longing crossed his features. He leapt and spun slowly across the stage, and every audience member held their breath. He moved like a flame: pure heat, flickering carelessly, but carefully at the same time. It was stunning.

The lights reflected in the paleness of his skin, and he became a shining pool of moonlight, and Harry felt a mask of warm tears welling in his eyes. Anger and jealousy seized him, because how dare this audience sit here. They don’t deserve to see him in all this beauty- when Harry knew him. Knew what this song was to him. Knew that this was not acting- that wistfulness that he embodied in his dancing- that was real.

The song came to an end and Harry had barely noticed the tears rolling in silent sobs down his face.

“Harry- Harry, are you okay?” Hermione was shaking his shoulder gently, but Harry didn’t bring himself to move. Couldn’t bring himself to move. Same thing.

“Did you know?” He whispered. “That it was him.”

“No, Harry, of course not.”

“Really? Really? You had no idea? It was just- just some happy fucking coincidence?” Harry whispered, a manic expression morphing his face.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said with a tight voice.

“Forget it.” He stood up abruptly, in the middle of a standing ovation, leaving the venue. Just one night. That was all he asked for.

Before he left, he threw one careless look back. Just before a bow, Draco’s eyes met his. The wind was knocked from his lungs as he lost himself in that gaze for the first time in a year. Draco froze, just for a second, and his winning smile was replaced with an open, parted expression. Harry turned and left.

-*-

He decided he didn’t want to go home. So he stayed outside, half-hoping that his friends would come looking for him, half-hoping they fuck off for a very long time. They never came.

He threw a half-hearted punch at the brick wall. Cold wind prickled against his skin. Everything fucking hurt. He leaned against the wall, silent cries shuddering through his lips.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He whispered to an uncaring moon.

“Take a drag,” a voice suggested from behind him.

He did his best to wipe the pathetic tear tracks from his skin, but he knew it didn’t matter. He turned around, and Draco was holding out a cigarette, one already hanging from his teeth.

He opened his mouth to say something, but just took the cig wordlessly, instead. He held it between his teeth and let Draco light it. “Thanks.”

“Why’d you come tonight?” Draco whispered, not looking at him. Harry watched curls of smoke float into the night.

“Hermione invited me,” Harry whispered, taking the cigarette in his hand. “She thought I needed a night off from work.”

“You look like you need more than just one night off from work,” Draco muttered, sparing a sideways glance at him. “Jesus, look at the state of you.”

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Harry said, half-angry and half just wanting to cry, before taking another long drag.

Draco didn’t protest that. He didn’t say anything for a long time, actually. Until Harry started walking away, with the intention to walk home. There was nothing left for him here. Just a ghost of what used to be home.

“Wait, Harry.” Draco called. Harry turned. “What, um, what did you think? Of the dance.”

Harry stared at him. He gave Draco a cruel look, the cruellest he could muster, and dropped the cigarette to the ground, stomping out the flame against damp pavement. “I thought it was fucking amazing. Brought me to tears, you piece of utter shit.”

“Wait, Harry.” Draco took his cig between his fingers. “Harry. Harry.”

“What?” Harry turned and snapped.

Before he knew it there were soft, hungry lips against his, and cold fingers pulling at his hair. Harry gasped, sliding his tongue against Draco’s, remembering and revelling in his smell. His mouth tasted like cigarettes but Harry couldn’t bother himself to care. The velvety feel of his flushed cheeks. God, he missed this.

Draco pulled away too soon. “I choreographed that bloody dance for you.”

“What?”

“It’s for you, Harry. All of it. I hate it, but I’m still so hopelessly fucking in love with you.” He choked on the words and fell into pieces right in that alleyway. “I can’t dance without thinking about you. I can’t do anything without thinking about you, Harry, and I resent you for that.”

Harry kissed him, and fluorescent light from the streetlamp clung to their silhouettes.

“I haven’t ever stopped loving you,” Harry whispered, pushing him against the brick wall, pinning him by his wrists Draco’s lips brushed lightly against the shell of Harry’s ear as he whispered, “Then prove it.”

Draco’s leather jacket was the first item of clothing to fall on the ground, and Harry’s mouth devoured the skin of his neck. Draco’s knees threatened to buckle and tiny whimpers blew into the wind at every touch. His trousers were next, as Harry pushed them to his ankles, then his pants.

His erection sprang free, all red and needy. Harry tenderly stroked the length of it, and Draco’s hips bucked against the brick with a heavy groan. Harry kissed him again, hard, with teeth clashing and hands grabbing.

“Please, oh god, Harry,” Draco breathed steadily. “God, please touch me.”

Harry sank to his knees, looking up at Draco through his eyelashes. Draco moaned loudly, “Get on with it, Potter.”

Harry’s tongue darted out to lick away a bead of precome, and Draco thrusted against his lips. Harry smiled, before licking a fat stripe along the shaft.

“Gods, yes, Harry,” Draco cried, hands burying themselves in Harry’s hair.

He took the whole of Draco’s length into his mouth at once, and bobbed his head to an invisible beat, his tongue twirling and working itself around the tip.

“Fuck,” Draco said.

Harry dug the heel of his palms into Draco’s thighs, and lapped away at his stiff, swollen cock. Draco yelled out, curling his hands into tight fists.

Harry took as much of Draco in as he could, and used his hands to tug at his balls teasingly. “Shit, I’m gonna- oh, fuck-”

He came in spurts, with a satisfied groan. “Oh, Harry.” He mumbled.

Harry cast a wordless cleaning charm and smiled.

“Come on,” He said. “We’re going home.”

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slytherinserpentine · 5 years

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8 Different Types of Love

Eros- sexual passion and desire, generally considered as a loss of control, i.e., Cupid’s arrow with Troy and Helen causing the Trojan war. It’s an intense kind of love that is romantic and passionate, but not necessarily stable. In mature individuals as describe by Socrates it recalls youth, but when misguided it can be abused and indulged in. This love is centered around the body and our more selfish desires, and needs one of the other types of love to survive.

Philia- affectionate love, friendship, Plato felt love didn’t always need physical affection to be felt, hence the word platonic. Philia is what you feel between that friend you’ve had through hardships. It’s about the mind and loyalty rather than physical pleasure like eros.

Storge- familiar love, generally used to describe kinship, a love you feel for family, or those you view as family. It’s bound in our memories, and though storge is generally considering good, it can hold you back if members of you family have views that differ from yours in harmful ways.

Ludus- playful love. It’s what you feel in the honeymoon stage, or when you first start dating someone. The flirting, teasing, fun banter, and giddiness of love. It’s the emotional side of love that is unfortunately often neglected later in life.

Mania- this is when one lover becomes obsessive with the other, either due to insecurity or possessiveness. People who go through mania need love and are desperate to keep it and become jealous and controlling. This leads to unhealthy relationship with codependency issues.

Pragma-this love is enduring. It’s in couples who have been together for decades or friendships that have lasted just as long. Pragma is not the result of a search for love, but rather the effort of maintaining it. Pragma is for partners who have put in effort for each other, found resolutions that are best for each other, have invested in one another.

Philautia - loving yourself, the greeks defined this one under two categories a positive and a negative. It’s fantastic to love yourself to be confident in who you are, to have compassion for your being. This is not the self love described by narcissus which is vanity obsessed and greedy. This is a love for the person you are and who you will become.

Agape- this is love in its purest form, a kind of love that accepts and forgives and hopes for our success. It’s the kind of person you meet who has a never ending supply of empathy and compassion, and your always comfortable around. They are agape with love.

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