Sunday: you are playing out the conversation that will never happen.




Bill, are you there?

Yeah, Perce, I'm here.

I'm sorry about the late-night flooing. I just needed to talk to you.

Don't worry, I'm getting used to it. How are--

He cut me last night.

Oh... Oh, bloody hell. Good way or bad way?

Good way.

Damn. Percy. I never knew you had it in you.

I know. I didn't think I'd.... (just lie there, fingers twined in his bedsheets, as the blade hovered within an inch of your skin, your heart beating too fast to register and your mind short-circuited) I saw my own blood. I don't understand it anymore.

Talk to me.

I don't know how to tell you.

Generally one begins at the beginning, goes on to the middle...

I know, I know. But I... I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

What, seeing your mystery man?

No, not telling you things. I've never told you who he is, I've never...

Like I said, begin at the beginning...

I know you don't like it. I have to, believe me, I have to.

All right. Begin at the small beginning, then. Percy, little brother, I'd never have thought... Did you try to stop him?

No. It's not just that I wouldn't have dared, I...I didn't want him to stop, not even when he first took the knife out. He makes me feel like I'd do anything.

Bloody hell, Percy. A knife? Talk to me, please.

Yes, I know we have to talk about this, and yes, he used a knife.

Most wizards would do it the safer way.

He isn't most wizards, Bill. I can't imagine him just using a cutting spell. He (would watch, so carefully, as the blade touched your skin, bit, sliced a quick razor line so thin that the blood welled up seconds later, as if his soul was focused to that edge, his will, his lust, breaking through your skin to drown in that tiny drop of blood, the second, the third) liked the knife too much.

And were you sure he wasn't going to hurt you?


Damn, Percy, what kind of a man is he?

Bill, I know nobody (fucks) messes with your little brothers.

Damn straight they don't. Who is he?

I shouldn't tell you!

What can it possibly change? I already know what he does to you, that's the important bit...

It'll change everything. Trust me on this. Bill, please calm down.


I won't be able to explain anything if you're--

Sorry, Perce. Damn Weasley temper. I just can't stand the fact that you're letting someone come this close to hurting you and you can't even tell me who it is.

I know.

Percy...did you enjoy it?

Yes. I (especially when he reached for the rope and drew your hands above your head, your ankles to the corners of the bed, and tied you down so tight that you couldn't even buck your hips, and just sat there between your legs with the knife resting on the inside of your thigh until you screamed and your cock was flat against your stomach) was scared at first (shaky-trembly with your gaze already pinned by the blade, unable to tear your eyes away as he rested the flat of it on your chest and kissed you, so deeply and so possessively, and told you to lie very still in that voice that promises infinite and intimate torment whether you disobey or not, but you always follow his orders anyway because you'd never even dream of rebelling, not against him) but I (came so hard you could barely summon the energy to lift your hands afterward) liked it.

You think he'll do it again?

Most likely. Whenever he finds (the cane) something (the crop) I like (rope woven round your balls so you couldn't come even if he swallowed you to the depths of his throat), he'll (one crack of a long, heavy singletail, a whip that would be more agony than you could bear, just one that) rarely (wraps around your throat with force nearly enough to choke you and he) not (yanks you to your knees by it and quite calmly informs you that a larger whip would have been enough to strangle you with the proper crack and would you like to try that, and you) use (beg him not to with the blood pounding in your ears, and you were almost sure it was charmed so he couldn't actually kill you, but you never know with him, and) it (leaves a collar of whipburn bruises on you that you have to cast a Concealing Charm on, and) again.

So it's just getting more and more intense?

(a thousand memories) Yes.

Percy... Tell me more about him.

I can't tell you who he is.

Tell me what he is, then. Please. I know so little.

He's... (supercilious Death Eater pureblood bastard whose very name can shake your family to the core) Arrogant and cruel... (casually cruel, diabolically, insidiously vicious) but...

Are you sure he'll never hurt you?

He (care, tenderness, almost affection, even when he places a razor-sharp blade just over the hollow at the base of your throat and tells you that you're going to bleed tonight) treasures me.

Go on.

He said once (with a glass of black wine in his hand) that he'd never do anything (would never outright torture you, would never betray you) that would really hurt me (get me into Azkaban--no matter what you may have heard, our kind does not use Unforgivables in bed), because it is so much more delightful (and he smiled and offered you the wine, and it turned out to be a potion that left you deaf for the rest of the night, and it was the most disorienting thing you've ever felt, because you were used to being blindfolded by then) to be loved by the one you're tormenting.

Well then. Smart fellow. Do you trust him?

I... (a complete and total idiot for doing so) yes.

But you're afraid of him.

(how could you not be) Yes. He can be (when he has broken you more times than you can count) terrifying.

Is that what turns you on about him?

(the day he said, if you beg me to stop, I shall continue, and if you beg me to continue, I shall stop; if, without my permission, you beg to be allowed to climax, I shall send you home unfulfilled; and I do not wish you to lie in my presence, so I suggest that you not beg for anything in particular; and do not think I shall hesitate to gag you if I do not wish to hear your inevitable whimpering) Yes.

Damn, Percy, this is messed up.

I'm safe.

I almost believe you. Please, keep telling me things. I want to be able to do something.

I know. Last night felt like a sacrament.

Blood is powerful stuff.

He believed it, so I did.

And what else does he believe, little brother?

Many (you've seen the Mark on his arm), many (a dark green shadow under the skin that made you close your eyes and flinch away) things. Things I don't believe in. (and the first time he pointed his wand at you, you nearly screamed and ran) He's (someone who would never hesitate to hurt you, for real, badly, if you didn't have the surreal protection that comes when he buckles a collar round your neck and leashes you like an animal) not a pleasant man. I have to (like you have to come when he's hit that spot inside you for the uncounted time and you're screaming with pleasure) admit that.

Does he practice the Dark Arts?


You don't need to answer, Percy, you already have.


I don't want to tell you I'm doing it for your own good. I'm sorry.

Bill, please.

So he's a Dark wizard, and not particularly nice, but you're sure he's not going to hurt you. Are you sure he knows what he's doing?


You said yourself the play's getting heavier and heavier. Do you trust him not to hurt you inadvertently?

Yes. He is (you've always wondered how he could be so perfect, and constantly creative, and know exactly what it does to you when he clamps your nipples for an hour and then puts ice on one and hot wax on the other, and) experienced.

So at least he knows what he's doing. Why am I not surprised?


I'll try to behave, I promise.

I shouldn't have bothered you.

No, you should have. I want to know if somebody's bleeding you, even if you did enjoy it.

I just want to be able to say something to somebody.

I know. I'm sorry. Look, does it matter if I know his name at this point?


How the hell can it? I thought you wanted to tell me things.

All right then. All right then! Promise you won't throw a fit.

Percy...thank you. Thank you. I promise.

It's (a thousand memories, again, of this impossible thing and this impossible man, because you know the growl in his throat when he comes, and you know him naked, and you know his tongue, and you know the rhythm of blows when he spanks you, and you know the extra hiss in his voice when he's angry, and the extra purr that means he's hard, and the extra glint in his eyes that means he's planning something, and)--


Sunday: you will floo your brother, and you will tell him what happened, and it will be awkward, and you will feel a little safer just for talking about it even though nothing really changed. And he will get worried, but you will not tell him who the man is--even though you desperately want to, you want to tell him everything, because you don't understand it anymore--because that would destroy everything. No. You would never dare tell your brother that you're seeing Lucius Malfoy.


feed the writer with email