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Meet Me on the Corner Chpater 5/?

Feb. 9th, 2008 | 12:59 am
mood: lazylazy
music: 'Spaced' soundtrack

Title: Meet Me on the Corner
Chapter: 5/?

A/N: I don't own. This chapter has multiple view points unlike the previous chapters. This will be ongoing as characters who are not necassarily in the same place become important. It starts with Rose and ends with the Master. Also I'm not giving anymore info cause I'm tired and I don't feel like it. :) I'll cross post this tomorrow probably. Going to bed now though.

*

In hindsight, wearing clothes from her personal wardrobe might not have been a good idea before dropping in on 1973. Rose looked at herself critically in a shop window with a sigh: charcoal-grey pinstripe trousers, a white T-shirt with Roxy Music printed across it in faded hot pink, a brown leather waist-cut jacket, a pair of pink converse low-top plimsolls and pink elbow-high knitted wrist warmers. Aside from tribute to the 70’s T-shirt she was pretty sure she would not fit in with the locals. Thankfully she had her Torchwood ID and she was positive that Torchwood, although it was decidedly more secretive, was well-known by the local authorities in 1973. The Master had said go in early winter. That’s how she ended up standing on Wilbraham Rd. trying to figure out where she landed through a thick wall of sleet. Manchester in 1973 looked drastically different then the Manchester she had just been in and she always found travelling with the vortex manipulator a bit taxing physically.
 
She wandered into a small shop that apparently sold records, Vinyl Heaven, and asked directions. They said the station was just around the corner and a few blocks. The nice hippie looking bloke even told her she should have on a thicker coat. She told him as politely as she could through chattering teeth that she would manage.
 
As she walked down the street the sleet stopped and dulled to a grey pattering rain that soaked her to the bone, inside and out. It also wasn’t looking good to her already battered jacket. Rose saw the station looming ahead and sighed, it was now or never. Rose figured she could still walk away than, she could decide not test the Master, she could trust him. That way she wouldn’t have to know if he was lying, honestly though after Torchwood she had lost that trust in people and aliens. She was just nervous that she had left Martha in danger with little to no explanation, that maybe this Master was a body snatcher like Cassandra or worse.  Some species she’d seen snatched bodies regularly to expand their life cycles, and not just human ones, all sorts. They made a habit of it. 
 
Rose flung open the doors, or would have if they hadn’t been so heavy, and marched to the front desk. She had to know. She was involved and deep down she wanted Sam to be in the station. She wanted to have a bit of a chat with him over a hot tea and call it a day. Go back to the Master and start anew. Walk away from Torchwood and to the stars. She missed the thrum of the TARDIS and the pounding of the vortex in her ears.  
 
She longed for the steady beat of time. 
 
“What do you need, then?” A woman, a WPC it looked like, Phyllis, sat behind the high desk on an even higher chair. Rose held up a finger and began to dig around her jacket for her purse. She finally pulled it out and flipped it open to expose her Torchwood ID. 
 
“Torchwood, I’m looking for Sam Tyler.” Phyllis bent forward and examined the ID before nodding.
 
“Rose Tyler…are you related to-?”
 
“Tyler is a very common name ma’am.” Rose rolled her eyes as Phyllis glanced down at the paperwork in front of her. 
 
The smell of cigarette smoke permeated the hall and she could see that the yellow walls hadn’t always been that color. Although she was rather fond of the older lightening, fluorescents always washed her out- made her look like a dead body.
 
“Right then, he should be in CID, I’ll have someone escort you then,” Phyllis got up from her chair, “just a tick!” She disappeared down the hall and reappeared only a second later with another woman in a fitted tan skirt, a striped oxford and green sweater vest. Rose silently admired the non-uniformed woman for working CID in such a smart outfit. She knew this woman to be Annie. She’d read thoroughly the transcripts from Sam’s tapes and knew the only non-uniformed woman in the whole station was-
 
“Annie Cartwright.” The woman extended her hand. “You’re Rose?” Rose smiled feebly, remembering how she must look like a drowned rat and nodded.
 
“That’s me. Sorry I’m tracking water, bit wet outside.” Annie laughed and began walking down the corridor.
 
“I noticed. Why aren’t you wearing a proper coat then? You’ll catch your death out there in that jacket. Sam’s only wearing his leather jacket as well. You’re sure you’re not his sister or something?” Rose could tell by the laughing smile that Annie didn’t actually think so but she didn’t have much time to think about it past her own shaking head because they had just walked directly into CID. 
 
In 2008 that would never happen. The locals hated Torchwood, they would never just let them prance right in with a quick flash of the badge and lead them into CID. She was also taken aback with the state of the place. Men with their feet propped on their desks, stakes of folders littering all of the available space and a thick cloud of smoke hanging over the whole room-not to mention they were all staring at her. Well, her and Annie, who was standing beside her with a comforting hand on Rose’s arm.    
 
One of the men who had been leaning on a desk rather than sitting had turned and Rose instantly recognized him from the pictures on the case file. Sam Tyler. She could have jumped for joy, she could have taking a running leap towards him and given him a bear hug, she could have kissed him but she didn’t. Instead she split a wide smile and walked straight up to him. Annie, she noticed, right on her tail.
 
“Sam Tyler,” she extended a hand that he grasped, albeit awkwardly in return, “Rose Tyler-Field Agent- Team Leader-Torchwood. I’ve come to discuss some pressing matters with you if I could.” He looked shocked, his hand went limp and his mouth opened slightly. Before he could answer another man had walked up.   
 
“Well, Hello flash knickers, what’ve you brought us now? Another plonk from the woman’s department, I think one is enough thank you very much.” The man speaking to Annie saddled up next to Sam and stared down at Rose.
 
“DCI Hunt. Can we help you?” Rose didn’t need the introduction; she knew that this could only be Sam’s superior.
 
“Yes DCI you can, I need to borrow your DI for a few hours, that’s all.” She smiled broadly.
 
“And who are you?” At least Hunt looked intrigued. That was what she had been going for, confidence. 
 
“I’m Rose Tyler-Torchwood, Field Agent and Team Leader.” Honestly, was anyone else going to ask her?
 
“Since when did Torchwood start hiring female Team Leaders?”
 
“Better me then some girlie, french-bender, dorothy with a cock but no brains, sir.” Gene Hunt nodded stoically but she could see his lip quirk in amusement. Sam, Annie and Chris (she thought) were visibly smiling and Ray (she thought) had fallen backwards off of his propped up chair.
 
“Too right. Alright, Tyler enjoy your day off.” Sam nodded and grabbed his coat of the pole beside his desk. Rose only just heard Annie whisper, ‘not too much’ to Sam before she sashayed to her own desk. Sam was smiling predatorily in Annie’s direction and Rose vaguely wondered if the Master would ever look in her direction like that before pushing the stray thought roughly away.
 
The Master was her charge, in her care, and could be potentially dangerous (although thus far he appeared to have been telling the truth about Sam). He was not her new Doctor or her personal Time Lord. She would have to remember that.
 
-----
Always the women. 
 
He’d said that, clearly remembered saying that to the Doctor as he died after his wayward wife saw fit to dispatch of him. Well, he thought he was dying anyway. And now this. In a body that is his body and simultaneously is not his body and happens to be in an alternate universe. Add to that Rose Tyler (the Doctors lost companion, which the Master found both amusing and ironic) showing up to wake him with a well placed cup of tea and the Vortex streaming through her veins and you have one too many coincidences. 
 
The Master sighed. 
 
After all of his lives and all of his adventures: stealing Tremas’ body to survive, the Axons, the Autons, the Daleks and Orligs, then being reborn for the Time War and then getting himself stuck in the year 100 trillion, then being Prime Minister and even being married- now the Master found nothing shocking. But this, this scenario was too good to be true. Rose Tyler, the infamous Bad Wolf of the Doctors deepest, darkest fantasies here-with the Doctor’s best enemy! It was lovely. He grinned widely, letting his face relax as his fingers tapped against the side of the trunk he was looking through. Truly, the Doctor would think less of him if he didn’t use it to his full advantage. What to do though, that was the question.
 
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap.
 
He would have to get to work on a screwdriver; laser preferably, although sonic had its advantages he had to admit. He sifted through bits and pieces and was assembling them frantically while Martha paced and checked the clock. He noticed her fiddle with the radio he’d found and was slightly irked that she’d lowered the volume but ignored it.
 
“Sam.”
 
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap.
 
“Sam?”
 
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap.
 
“Master?”
 
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap.
 
“Yes, Martha?” She was hunched over his shoulder and he found it oddly exhilarating that Martha Jones, his nemesis’ new play thing was so obviously oblivious to his hatred of her.
 
“What are you doing?” He looked briefly at the bits of dismembered and reassembled machinery in his hands and in front of him with a smile.
 
“I’m building myself a laser screwdriver. Look closely at this bit right here, very dangerous that.” He pointed the tip were a small hole was placed at Martha’s face. “I’m going to need a better power source, no problem though is it? You’ll get it for me in a tick won’t you?” 
 
Martha narrowed her eyes.   He could see her calculating what her reaction should be. She seemed to decide he was harmless as she smiled. She was probably attributing his antics to some split personality or grand delusion. That suited him just fine.
 
“Well that depends, Sam, what is it you want?” He raised an eyebrow in irritation and lowered the screwdriver and looking directly into her eyes. He noticed that her dark eyes held no specks of gold the way Rose’s did. Although, he had to admit Martha’s eyes weren’t bad in so far as human eyes went. The Doctor did know how to pick them, if you had your hearts set on a human companion anyway.    
 
“It’s a secret. Come closer.” Martha leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Closer.” She was staring intently, fixatedly back at him. Their noses were almost touching and he nearly retched at the proximity of her, the smell of human pressing against him. She was curious and agitated and disbelieving all at once. He could smell it. Pushing the bile down he pressed his mind outward and felt the soft, pliant barrier of her consciousness give way. “Martha Jones.”
 
“Yes?”
 
“I am not Sam Tyler.”
 
“No.”
 
“I am the Master-you will obey me.” Martha’s eyes glazed over and the Master felt his lip curl in satisfaction, though he did try to suppress it, a little. 
 
“Yes.
 
Martha nodded after he gave her the instructions and she was on her way. He almost missed her. The thing was, humans are lovely creatures. But they are best observed from a far or used for some sort of purpose. They are apes well and truly and as such should not be allowed to roam free, in the Master’s mind. He did admit however that there were some exceptions. He was rather fond of their music: Pop, electro, punk and rock, etc. He couldn’t get enough of it. 
 
And then there were people like Sam Tyler. More highly evolved and therefore above their ape relatives and Rose Tyler (oddly both Tyler’s, he wondered at this before deciding to return to the topic at a later date, Tyler was a very common name after all) who could hold all of time and space in her evolved mind for long enough to destroy whole fleets of Daleks and save her so-called precious Doctor. Not to mention holding on to a piece of it for the last couple of years without so much as a headache to show for it. The raw power he felt strumming in her magnetic field was outstanding. How had the Doctor not put it to good use? He hadn’t even acknowledged it when he had spoken to the Master about Rose. Or rather, as the Master forced it out of him with a series of painful forays into the Doctor’s fragile psyche. 
 
He huffed. The Doctor had managed to hide what a vast weapon Rose held, Rose was. That was infuriating. He cursed himself for not having dug deeper. Oh well. He’ll get his chance. He just needs Rose to get him into Torchwood. He had a feeling the equipment that was necessary to make a decent void ship was only going to be found there. Unfortunately controlling Rose was going to be more difficult than Martha. In fact it was probably impossible considering how accustom to vortex power she was. The Bad Wolf surely was shielding her mind from any sort of intrusion he could attempt. No, he would have to use charm plain and simple. He didn’t mind this though; he rather liked the Doctor’s last infamous ‘companion.’ And he had a feeling she rather liked him as well.
 
He would still need a plan however. Martha returned with the set of keys he had asked for and the names and positions of all the staff on radiology. The Master smiled and patted her head. 
 
“Good. Now sit Martha Jones. And stay. If Rose returns do not speak of this. Tell her where I am and nothing else.”
 
She nodded fervently and sat down in the chair opposite the bed, her back stiff against the back of the chair and her eyes focused on the wall above the steel bars of his bed frame.
 
“And act natural for Rassilon’s sake!” He saw Martha slouch easily and pick up a magazine from the side table as he headed out to radiology.

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Meet Me On The Corner, Chapter 4/?

Jan. 29th, 2008 | 02:07 am
music: Roxy Music

Title: Meet Me on the Corner
Chapter: 4/?
Word Count: Microsoft Word 1,610
Pairings: Eventually Sam/Annie, Master/Rose, 10/Rose
Warnings: None yet
Rating: G, so far.
A/N: DW and LOM are not mine. All I claim is the plot. :D

“Master?”  Rose must have missed the Doctor’s quirky mood swings more than she thought because she actually relished this man’s-Time Lord’s- manic grin. She smirked, feeling her tongue peek out from between her teeth.  “Master of what, then?” 

 

She thought she knew what the answer would be.

 

“Just the Master.”  She wasn’t disappointed.

 

 

“Alright Master,” She took a deep breath, maybe this man was her universes version of the Doctor-

 

“I love it when you use my name.”  Or not.  She ignored his fascination with his name and continued undaunted.

 

“Right, well, where you from then mister Master?”  The Master looked at her with a quizzical frown, his brow furrowed and the right side of his upper lip pulling his mouth lopsided.  She knew that look, it said, ‘Are humans always this slow?’

 

“Rose, you know where I’m from.” 

 

As much as she had first been inclined towards the Master, or Sam, or whoever, she didn’t like that he might know something she didn’t.  Not to mention the fact that he so obviously thought she should know.

 

“How would I-?”  He smiled again, cocking his head and lifting a finger to her lips.  Rose, who had previously been pushing herself back into the hospital bed, ducked her head a little but left her mouth under his touch.  He dragged his fingers over her cheek and up to the side of her face, pausing at her ear.

 

“It’s all in here.”  He pressed his fingers up in through her hair, onto her temple, and then she felt the push.  Not a physical push but the brush of his consciousness against hers.  It throbbed to a rhythm she couldn’t identify.  It felt familiar but he pulled back before she could identify it.

 

When Rose opened her eyes, which she hadn’t realized she closed, his face was still dangerously close to hers.  She missed the mental intimacy. 

 

Rose was overcome with the same feeling of incompleteness and emptiness she’d had when she’d first gotten stuck in her new universe.  It wasn’t only that she’d lost the man she loved but that she’d lost the TARDIS too, that friend whom Rose had always been able to feel, no matter how alone or how far away.  She knew the TARDIS had always been there, in her head, since the day she ran into the console room.  It seemed like after the Game Station though, whatever had happened when she opened the console that had bonded them, was broken.  The break was jagged and painful, it almost drove her insane.  She’d had nightmares for months of fractured singing (Rose fancied it was the same voice that the Doctor heard when he talked to the TARDIS) that was familiar but sounded faded and distant, the scream of the materialization sequence and the whirring of the time rotor.  Her head was filled with images of the dim, flickering lights in the winding corridors of the ship that had been her home and the large brown eyes of the ship’s captain.  She hadn’t had a proper night’s rest the first four months of what she now referred to as her exile and then Bad Wolf Bay happened. 

 

 

“You didn’t ask to flip through my memories.” 

 

He smiled again and shook his head.

 

“I didn’t have to.  You broadcast so clearly I’d need earmuffs.  Still, I think I’m clever enough to-no, I know I’m clever enough- to figure it out based on the Doctor’s description of you: Brash, bottle-blond, a little bit brilliant (he does fancy alliteration doesn’t he?) and reeking of Time Vortex.  Not to mention he told me your name and it says here in your purse that you’re Rose M. Tyler, Field Agent, Torchwood.”

 

“The Doctor? You know my Doctor?”  He rolled his eyes but Rose couldn’t help the tremble in her voice.

 

“Is there any other?”  Did he sound irritated?  “No, only one, thank Rassilon.  I ran into him and his new companions last time I was on Earth.  Hostile takeover, you know the kind-mad man kills 1/3 of the population, enslaves human-kind, and starts interplanetary war.”

 

“Yeah.”  Her response was breathy and distant as news of the Doctor sank in though she hardly noticed.  The Master slid his hand down her cheek as he drifted into his own mind and Rose’s attention was pulled back by his haunted expression.

 

“The last thing I remember was your Doctor crying over my dying body after I was shot (of all of the humiliating ways to die) by my not so faithful companion.”

 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”  How could someone shoot the man in the hospital gown in front of her, she couldn’t fathom.

 

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.  Don’t be, I didn’t die after all, I ended up here in the body of Sam Tyler, Time Sensitive and DCI of CID in the Greater Manchester Police Authority.”  The Master’s focus seemed to return and with it he brought the question of Sam Tyler back to the forefront of Rose’s mind.

 

“What’s happened to Sam?”  She bit her lip, she thought she knew.  If he was a Time Lord maybe then he had the capacity, like Cassandra, to push someone back into their minds.  She shuddered, remembering the feeling of being relegated to watching someone go about in your body and not being able to stop them.

 

“He’s safe and sound.”

 

“Where?”  Rose pushed forward, knocking the Master back on his haunches, and grabbing his wrist tightly.  “Where is he?”  The Master smiled and shook his head. 

 

“Wrong question Rose Tyler.  When.  When is Sam?”  She blinked.  When?  Oh.  1973.

 

“He’s in 1973?”

 

“Right in one!  Or, two, rather.  Spot on anyway.”  His smile was infectious and she grinned like a school girl who’d just been bumped to the top of the class.  He beamed back and pushed himself off the bed.  “Now, that’s settled why don’t we-”

 

“How do I know I can believe you?”  She hated to ask but her Torchwood training told her to be careful.  There are a lot of psych species out there with enough parlor tricks to make you think they’re being honest when they’re not.  If they go unchecked they can cause loads of damage, Rose knew first hand. 

 

“What?”

 

“Well, Mister Master, how do I know I can trust you?” 

 

“About Sam?  Can’t.  Not unless you’ve got a TARDIS, and I know you haven’t.  Time travel is centuries off for you.  Even the most primitive, no matter how much of the Time Vortex is pumping dormant through your veins.”

 

“Centuries off is right.  That’s why I pinched a Vortex Manipulator off of a Time Agent in Leeds.”  Rose wished she had a camera to capture the open mouthed look on the Master’s face.  She’d been saving that story, imagined it to the Doctor when he came back for her…eventually.  Now she was maybe the closest she’d been in years and she’d let it slip to this lost Time Lord in a white and blue hospital gown with a gap in the back just to see the look on his face.  She wondered if it was anything like the Doctors would be. 

 

She didn’t think so.  “Catching flies?”

 

“You have a Vortex Manipulator?”

 

“I missed Time Travel.  Although traveling without the TARDIS is a killer!  Don’t know how the Time Agents do it.”

 

“He was right, you’re brilliant.”  She smirked as his gape turned into a genuine smile.  Nothing like the manic or uncomfortable ones he’d been flashing her before.  This one was more natural and it looked better on him.  It was easy and friendly and a little awestruck.  She felt no small measure of pride at that last bit.

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

 

“Yes, well, worth a shot.  You’re heading to 1973 then?”

 

“I think so.  I want you to start getting dressed while I’m gone and I’ll wake Martha up to watch you I think.”  He quirked an eyebrow but nodded.

 

“Then?”  She smirked.

 

“Then, if your story checks out, we head to Torchwood.  On the way you can tell me all about how Sam Tyler, 21st century DCI ended up in 1973.”  She could see him weighing the options.  She wasn’t sure what else he thought he could do without a TARDIS or any of the nifty gadgets the Doctor had so loved.  Rose could only assume that all Time Lords were so technically inclined.

 

“Deal.  Tell Sam he’s being well taken care of.”   With that she shook Martha awake and went to work gathering her stuff. It was 3 am and she wanted to be back by 3:30am and all packed up.  If things went according to plan maybe they could all get a few more winks before her team arrived.

 

The Master set to work finding a stereo (do you think they sell radios in the shop?  There is a shop isn’t there?) and sorting through what was in Sam’s room clothing wise.  Martha was making herself a cup of coffee in the nurses’ lounge across the hall.  Once she’d arrived back Rose gave her a wave and headed out.

 

The pavement was wet; it must have rained while she was inside.  The air smelled warm and fresh, perfect spring weather in Manchester.  Manchester, it had reminded her of her first Doctor, all leather and Northern accent.  Now she wondered if it would remind her of this new Time Lord.  The Master.

 

She held her wrist up and pushed back the sleeve of her brown leather jacket and pushed down the high sleeve of her thick chocolate gloves.  The Vortex Manipulator blinked as she set the coordinates and held her breath.     

 

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Meet Me on the Corner

Jan. 26th, 2008 | 11:00 pm
mood: geekygeeky
music: Aphex Twin

Chapter: 3/?
Word Count: Microsoft Word/ 1,412
Warnings: None for this chapter
Ratings: G
Pairings: Eventually Sam/Annie, Rose/Master, Rose/Doctor(10)

“Lucy? Doctor?” Rose smiled her best comforting smile and dragged the wet cloth across his forehead again.

 

“No Love. I’m Rose. I’m gonna take care of you.”  Suddenly his arm shot out and his hand caught her behind the head.  Rose struggled but his grip was strong and her hair was tangled in his fingers.  He pulled her forward, until his face was only inches away.”

 

“The drums.  Make them stop!  You make them stop.”  Then he was out.  His hand in her hair went lax and his face slacked.  The inch or so gap between his head and the bed closed as he dropped back.

 

Martha had rushed up and helped Rose untangle Sam’s hand from her hair. And then helped ease Rose back into the seat she’d been forced up from when Sam had woken up.  Rose was secretly grateful for the steady hand at her back because that had been terrifying.  The Doctor, she was certain, would never have done that.  Well, almost certain. 

 

That of course was relying on the fact that he would remember her.  She wasn’t sure when this man was from in regards to her own timeline therefore if he was the Doctor then he may not remember her or maybe hasn’t even met her yet. Then again, Rose had this niggling feeling, he may not be the Doctor at all. 

 

He felt…different.  Not bad, not at all, even with his little outburst. He was just different.

 

She remembered what the Doctor said on that beach in Norway, ‘Same old life, last of the Time Lords.’  Was he really the last?  He had said the TARDIS couldn’t recharge on the Time Vortex of this universe.  Maybe he couldn’t sense the Time Lords of this universe either.  Maybe he wasn’t actually the last of the Time Lords.

 

Or maybe he is and this is just a parallel Doctor, the last of this universe’s Time Lords.  She tried to dredge up any memory of what the Doctor told her about his planet and its existence and the Time War but she couldn’t remember much.  Not because she hadn’t been listening but because he rarely talked about it. Either way Rose wished desperately, for what seemed like the thousandth time, that her Doctor was there with her. Only this time she didn’t wish it for purely selfish reasons.  She could just picture his joy when he realized he was not alone anymore. Another Time Lord!  She wanted to tell him but knew that it was a hopeless endeavor.  He’d said it himself-she could never see him again.

 

She gave her attention back to the man in the bed beside her, ignoring Martha fluttering around getting a new bowl of water, seeing as Sam had knocked Rose’s over, and eventually kneeling beside Rose’s chair.

 

“Rose, look at me.”  Rose turned her head away from the now calmly sleeping man. “Are you alright?”  She was mildly irritated at Dr. Jones’s tone but decide to let it slide since she’d only known Rose for a short while and Rose admitted she was the youngest field agent Torchwood had- with the most experience.

 

“I’m fine Martha. I’m always fine.”  Martha lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “S’true.”

 

“Is that so?”  Rose narrowed her eyes. She was delighted as Martha leaned back from Rose’s arm. Then she flashed a brilliant, manic smile that she inherited from the Doctor.

 

“Yep!”  Her enthusiasm had rubbed off on Martha who was now beginning to pack away a few of Sam’s belongings into a bag.  She’d said he might like the cards and flowers if he regained lucid consciousness. Rose wondered if Sam Tyler was even still in there.  She remembered the differences between her first and second Doctors and decided yes, he probably was.  So she let Martha pack and when Dr. Morgan brought her Sam’s whole case file she shifted Sam over and laid next to him. 

 

He seemed to like the skin on skin contact of her hand on his head or arm and it calmed him. She even noticed him nuzzling into her side, his head almost in her lap, as she settled in to read his file. She thought his vague smile as she stroked his hair was possibly the cutest thing she’d seen in a long time. Although the little mewling noise he made whenever she moved away was damn close second.  She checked the age on the file, it said 37, and honestly he didn’t look a day over 30 to Rose.  Then again she used to travel with a 900 or so year old Time Lord. 

 

At the same time Rose worried, he was still flushed and his brain activity was erratic on the monitors.  She knew that his temperature was decreasing, which was a good sign, but he was still warm to the touch and she knew if he was in fact a Time Lord(she was pretty sure) that meant he had a serious fever.  She resolved not to leave his side until she felt he was stable enough to move.  She continued to read and occasionally dab his face and head with the damp washcloth.  It was truly the only thing she remembered doing when the Doctor was in his coma. 

 

Martha had curled up on the visitors chair a couple of hours ago and Rose felt her eyes drooping as she read. 

 

“‘Ello.”  Rose looked up to see one of the nurses, a Mrs. Elling, standing over her with a broad smile and a cuppa.  Rose would have hugged her if her hands weren’t full of paperwork and coma patient.  “Thought you might fancy a cuppa before I come in ‘ere and find you’ve fallen asleep on top of Mr. Tyler an’ suffocated ‘im.” 

 

Rose laughed with a smile and thanked the nurse politely, untangling herself to take a sip of the tea and giving it an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

 

After the nurse left Rose looked at the bedside clock, 11:37pm.  She’d put the call in hours ago but since it wasn’t considered an imperative transport the med team would be taking the first zeppelin into Manchester the next day.

 

Rose leaned back, tea in hand, a continued reading through the file.  The transcripts from the tapes made for Sam’s psych. evaluation were like reading episodes of EastEnders crossed with Greater Manchester’s finest.  She was amazed at the detail and her assumption of him being a Time Lord was looking closer and closer to being confirmed (as if having two hearts and a lower natural body temperature weren’t enough).  She laughed at Sam’s vivid descriptions of the people working in CID. Curling up next to the warm sleeping body she took another sip and continued to read.  Slowly Rose began to nod off, files beside her head and tea still in hand, luckily significantly cooled.

 

“Rose Tyler.”  Rose breathed deeply through her nose and turned into the pillow.  “Rose.”

 

She heard her name and with a spasm she jerked upright, her face stopping just centimeters from the face of a very awake Sam Tyler.

 

“Hello, Rose.”  She breathed in shakily.  He was hovering over her on his side, dangerously close to her face.  He had an enormous grin on his face and his hand was clutching her wrist, rhythmically kneading it.

 

“Hello, Sam.”  At this he smiled bigger. 

 

“Oh, Rose Tyler, I so sorry to disappoint you but…I’m not Sam.” He wore this almost comical sad expression before smiling in a way that reminded Rose of the Doctor.  It was huge and manic and completely genuine and a little bit frightening.

 

“Is that so?  You sure look like Sam.” 

 

“Quite, but seeing as I’ve commandeered his body I think that’s perfectly natural.  You know I rather liked this regeneration-young, strong, virile.”  He leaned in closer to Rose, holding her eye contact and breathing deeply. “No wonder I wandered to its doppelganger-marvelous sense of smell as well.  And all this with so few complications!  Not that I would have minded ejecting the previous tenant.  It’s simply so much easier when he’s willing left.  And I couldn’t have asked for a more adaptable body, a descendent! What are the chances? I love free radicals, especially Earl Grey. Marvelous! YOu don't mind that I've had some do you.  And by some I mean all.”  Rose was flabbergasted.

 

“Slow down.  What?”  His eyes refocused on her.

 

“You’ve brought me back Rose Tyler!” 

 

“Doctor!?!”  His brow furrowed and his chin dipped down as he lowered himself over her.  He tilted his body to cover her upper half and smiled a toothy grin.

 

“I’m the Master.”     

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Meet Me on the Corner

Jan. 25th, 2008 | 09:50 pm
music: Life on Mars soundtrack

Title:Meet Me on the Corner
Chapter: 2/?
Pairings: Sam/Annie, Master/Rose, Ten/Rose
Word Count: Microsoft Word-1, 152
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
A/N: Second chapter. It would leave me alone tonight i guess. I won't usually be updating this fast. Un-beta'd as well. So all mistakes are mine.

Rose stared at the x-ray.  Martha took the shocked blonde by the arm and led her to the center of the room and pulled back the white curtain.

 

The first thing Rose noticed wasn’t that the man looked young and relatively healthy, no cuts, no bruising.  It wasn’t the machines hooked up to him or the breathing tube in his nose.  It wasn’t the lack of heart monitor.  It was his face.  From what Rose remembered coma patients, even ones with two hearts she imagined, didn’t have their faces screwed up with tight lipped grimaces.  They weren’t flushed and sweating and balling their fists in the stark hospital sheets.  The man on the bed gave a low moan and it tore into Rose’s heart.

 

She rushed forward and laid a hand on is sweat covered brow.  He was burning up.  She grabbed a washcloth from the closet and poured fresh water into an empty bowl.  She proceeded to run it across his forehead and smoothed his hair back.  His breathing eased slightly and she turned her attention back to Martha Jones and Frank Morgan.

 

“Ms. Tyler, Please-”

 

“What have you done?” 

 

“Nothing.  It’s a miracle.”  Dr. Morgan was gazing at the comatose body of Sam Tyler with almost a reverence. 

 

“It’s alien.”

 

Martha jabbed her finger in Dr. Morgan’s chest.  “Hear that? Alien! I told you!”

 

“I’m going to need to move him.  You don’t know how to take care of him, that much is obvious.”  Both doctors turned to her. 

 

“What is that supposed to mean?  He’s our patient.

 

“It means exactly what you think it means.  He’s obviously in distress and needs to be moved to one of Torchwood’s facilities.  I’ll put in the call and stay with him until transport arrives.”  Dr. Morgan looked dazed but angry.  He stepped forward and Rose instinctively stepped back.  Thankfully Martha Jones pushed passed him and planted herself in front of Rose with her hands on her hips.

 

“He has a mum, a dad, a job.  He can’t be alien.  I’ve treated him for the last year and a half; he’s never had two hearts in all of the time I’ve known him, their new. It’s the recovery that’s alien.  And you can’t just move him, he could die.”

 

“That may be, but he could be dangerous and we can’t have him run amok in a hospital!”  Rose tried not to get her hopes up but maybe he wasn’t dangerous.  Maybe he was what she had been waiting for.

 

“Run the tests here. He’s in a coma, he won’t hurt anyone!”

 

“First, you don’t have the equipment.”

 

“We’ll get the equipment.”

 

“Dr. Jones, this is not your call, it’s mine and I say he goes.  More importantly does this look like any coma you’ve ever seen?”  Martha looked at the body on the bed and seemed to focus intensely for just a second before shaking her head in defeat.

 


“No, but Ms. Tyler I must insist-” Rose groaned.

 

“Insist all you want he’s being moved to our facilities whether you like it or not. Got it?” Another thing Rose hated was the locals.  They always seemed to get in her way.  Frank Morgan was edging in behind Martha and it was making Rose nervous again; he was tapping the same rhythm on his hip as he tapped earlier on his arm.

 

“Ms. Tyler, it’s clear I think Dr. Jones has made it clear that Sam Tyler will not be-”

 

“May I come with?” Martha had interrupted again and was looking pleadingly into Rose’s eyes. 

 

“What?”

 

“I feel obligated, he’s my patient.”  Dr. Morgan coughed suggestively but Rose chose not to notice.  Torchwood was always looking for new recruits and despite herself Rose liked this doctor even if she was an irritating local and she had a dedication to her patients that Rose admired. 

 

“Yes.  I think we can arrange for you to tag along a bit I guess.”  Rose vaguely hoped she wouldn’t end up like the Doctor, picking up strays wherever she went. Morgan irritably put a hand on Martha’s shoulder, still tapping Rose noticed.

 

“I think I should come as well.”

 

“No Sir, I don’t think so.  Martha is his general physician and therefore has a closer relationship with the patient.  She will be all we’ll need.  But thank you for the offer, Sir.”  Rose smirked.  She definitely did not like Frank Morgan.  He was, for lack of a better word, discomfiting.  “You know what you could do though?  You could grab the rest of Sam’s file so I can do a bit of reading while I wait.”  Morgan backed off and nodded.  As he turned away Rose couldn’t help herself, “That’s a good man.”  She secretly enjoyed screwing with older, over-bearing, authority figures…she thought of her superiors at Torchwood 3, maybe it wasn’t that much of a secret.

 

“Thank you Ms. Tyler.”  Rose brought her attention to the Doctor next to her.

 

“Don’t worry about it.  He is your patient after all.”  Rose returned to dabbing the mans forehead and face.  She put a hand on his fingers and attempted to soothe them enough so that he wasn’t gripping the bed sheets.

 

“Do you know what’s happened to him?”  Martha now seemed almost afraid to come closer to the bed, like she may break him by just being too close.  Apparently Martha Jones put at least some blame on herself for the state of him.

 

“I think he may be in a regenerative coma, so you were right about the coma part.  I think he is a type of alien called a Time Lord.”

 

“A Time Lord?”

 

“Yeah.  I used to know-well yeah. The only humanoid alien I know of with two hearts.  Occasionally they go through this thing called regeneration and if they are under stress it can lead to a coma of sorts while their body heals. Does he, look any different to you?”

 

Martha sort of cocked her head and creased her brow.  “No.  Maybe his hairs a bit shorter then when he left, probably had it cut.”

 

“Not a different…build?  Facial features?”

 

“Not unless you count the heart thing.”

 

That was odd.  Rose was sure the Doctor said he always looked different after regeneration and that he couldn’t change back.  He couldn’t will himself to look a certain way.  That meant that this couldn’t be a regenerative coma.  Maybe restorative? Maybe Time Lords always went into a deep coma-like sleep when they were ill?  She’d have to get him to a proper Torchwood Medical Lab to be certain. 

 

On the other hand, she couldn’t bear the thought of Torchwood running ‘unnecessary’ tests on him.  Rose did not want this Time Lord, Doctor or not, to be dissected.  A groan from beside her drug her attention away from her musings on Torchwood medical practice and focused on the man beneath her hand whose eyes were fluttering open.    


 

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Crossover fic.

Jan. 25th, 2008 | 05:57 pm
mood: accomplishedaccomplished
music: Life on Mars soundtrack



Title: Meet Me on the Corner
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: G. Eventually M but not for a while.
Pairings: Sam/Annie, Master/Rose, Ten/Rose.
Warnings: None. But they will change every chapter.
A/N: I have more written but I wanted to get this bit up. I don't write often but I would like to get this all out. I can't promise to post regularly but I will finish this...eventually.

Rose hated hospitals.  She hated the smell of decay and antiseptic and probably most of all she hated going alone.  Her mind was always buffeted with memories of New Earth-cats in wimples, that awful disinfecting lift, Cassandra using her body to kiss the Doctor, the smell of Apple Grass. Unfortunately she would have to just clear her mind of all that nonsense and figure out where Hyde Rm. 2612 was because that was where she was needed.  Torchwood had received an urgent call this morning about a patient that was showing strange symptoms and Pete had saw fit to send her in without backup.  It had helped that the call came in from a hospital in Manchester and Rose had just wrapped up an assignment in Blackpool, about 40 kilometers from there, and was in driving distance of said hospital.  Apparently the patient was a disgruntled DI who was in a coma after attempting to top himself by jumping from the roof of the Greater Manchester Police Authority and therefore he was not considered dangerous.  Also this particular patient had only woken up a couple weeks earlier from another coma that had been induced by a car accident and prolonged by a benign brain tumor.  This guy, she glanced down at the manila file folder in her hands-Sam Tyler, had it rough. 

 

After asking a polite nurse where she should be headed Rose doubled back, took the lift down a floor, made a right at the soda machine and headed into Hyde Ward.  She was greeted by two Doctors standing, oddly enough, outside of the patient in question’s room.  She strolled up and put on her best perky smile.  She had perfected it on her travels with the Doctor using it to calm freaked out locals, now she used it to calm freaked out witnesses usually.

  

“Welcome, miss-?”

 

“Tyler, Rose Tyler. Torchwood 3.”  The doctors standing between her and the door cocked their heads and the younger one, a woman, looked about to speak. “No relation to the patient.  Common name, Tyler is.” 

 

The gentleman nodded and smiled awkwardly, his lips tilting strangely to the side, his moustache twitching. 

 

“Right.  Well thank you for coming on such short notice Ms. Tyler. I’m Dr. Frank Morgan, I was Mr. Tyler’s Surgeon and this is Dr. Martha Jones, his general physician.  We have been taking care of Sam since his first accident.” 

 

The older gentleman shifted uneasily from foot to foot.  Rose also noticed he was sweating heavily and had his arms crossed over his chest, his right hand was tapping against his left arm.  The woman beside him seemed impatient.  She clenched and unclenched her hand in a rhythmic pattern and repeatedly smoothed down her white jacket.  Rose has never known doctors, proper ones anyway, to look this nervous.

 

“First accident? I hardly think what brought him here a second time would be classified as an accident Dr. Morgan.”  HA!  She’d read the report.  It was noted on the bottom that what was left of the detective’s broken face was contorted in a macabre smile. Rose found this creepy, but telling.  Sam Tyler hadn’t wanted to survive the fall.  Rose just had a feeling.  Another thing she had a feeling about were these doctors, something was suspicious about them.  They seemed more nervous than they really had cause to.  She suspected they had ‘forgotten’ something when they reported Sam and it was an important something.  The feeling of discomfort increased as Dr. Morgan began to lead her into the room.

 

It was stark white and filled with a mess of bright silver machinery and the sickly sweet perfume of wilting flowers.  Rose could see wires leading behind a large white curtain and noticed immediately something felt wrong, something was missing.

 

“Yes, well. That being said his recovery has been nothing short of miraculous.”  The woman beside Dr. Morgan stepped forward with a dramatic sigh

 

“I should say so.  That’s why I put in the call to our chief resident.”  Rose looked pointedly at the women who looked back with a conviction Rose rarely saw.  She was in her mid twenties, very clean cut with dark eyes, dark hair and a nervous tell of biting her lip from what Rose could see.  Rose rather liked her actually; Dr. Morgan on the other hand was going to be a pain in her ass.  She could tell from his use of the term miracle, it immediately set her off.  If it was a “so-called” miracle why had Torchwood found it suspicious enough to send her out when Jones had her chief make the call? 

 

“Right, so he jumped from the top of a building?”

 

“Yes, six stories.  This happened only weeks after coming out of his first coma-induced by severe head trauma from a car accident.  He fell back into a coma on impact but has since completely healed…physically.”  Dr. Morgan gestured expansively to a white curtain around what Rose presumed to be Mr. Tyler’s bed.

 

“You said there were significant changes to his physiology, is that what you meant?”  The Morgan didn’t speak but the woman behind him nodded.

 

“That and…”  She trailed off.

 

“And?”

 

  Dr. Jones walked quickly across the room and came back with a large black and clear transparency.”  She handed it over to Rose.  “It’s an x-ray of Sam’s chest cavity; he appears to have…grown, a second heart.”  

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New smut fic. 10/Rose

Nov. 29th, 2007 | 12:06 pm
mood: creativecreative

I don't write much, more of a reader, but I couldn't get the smut bunny outta my head so hear it is.  (unbeta'd btw)

Title: Aggression
Word count: 4,354
Rating: Adult

     The spray from the shower beat against Rose’s head as she washed the soap from her eyes. Damn him and his stupid grin!  They had always skirted around ‘dancing’ with jokes and innuendo but Rose could feel the intensity building and her reactions becoming stronger to his playful flirtations.  It was frustrating her to the breaking point. She was taking more cold showers than she could remember, ever. When she managed to get herself cleaned up she brushed her teeth with her brand new sonic (complements of the Doctor, “This could be more sonic!”) toothbrush and changed into a small matching set of barely there purple knickers and bra. She admired herself in the full length mirror and felt the TARDIS hum in approval. It seemed like since their adventure on the Game Station all that time ago that she could feel and understand the TARDIS like never before.  It felt unusually warm so she put on a pair of pink cotton track shorts and a white tank top before heading into her bedroom.  Unfortunately the darkness did nothing to silence her imagination.

 

    She remembered the kiss.  They had been on New Earth, just after that first Christmas with her New-New Doctor, and Cassandra had taken over her body.  Rose may not have been in control but she still remembered the feel of his cool mouth working against hers, and now every time he touched her she felt a searing jolt of electricity. She lay in bed trying desperately to push the images from her mind.

 

    It seemed like nothing worked.  She counted sheep, she counted beer bottles, she even counted Slitheen, but her mind kept wandering back to the console room and the Doctor.  Earlier she and the Doctor had been snuggled together on the jump seat, laughing about this and that when she felt his arm accidently graze across her neckline at the back of her shirt.  It had been the final straw and with a groan she had given a final laugh and a faux yawn to fake tiredness and headed to bed.  She even affected a cat-like stretch as she stood up.  She couldn’t help it if this new regeneration seemed to evoke that reaction. 

 

    That’s not saying that she hadn’t loved the Doctor before with his goofy grin, big ears and icy blue eyes, because she had. She may have loved the Doctor before, may have found him handsome, but now she loved him on top of finding his new body to be damn near irresistible. He was all manic charm and fluffy brown hair and big chocolate eyes.

 

    She could feel the first pangs of arousal snake through her body and into her abdomen.  Rose rolled her eyes and threw herself on her pink duvet, covering her face with her arm and sighing.  She had been habitually ‘relieving’ herself before bed for the last few weeks and with a sigh she decided tonight would be the night she put a stop to it and got control of herself.

 

    The TARDIS got warmer as she headed towards the kitchen quietly.  She didn’t know why exactly but she didn’t want the Doctor to hear her.  She knew it was pointless to be sneaky in his ship when if he wanted to find her all he would have to do was ask the TARDIS but Rose had a feeling the TARDIS wouldn’t tell. Girls really ought to stick together anyway. So she crept quietly, secretly, she worried that somehow if he saw her he would want to join her for tea and then he would be able to see the desire Rose was so desperately trying to hide. Then what? Kick her out? Let her down easy? Take her hard and fast against the console? No. She huffed and shoved the thought aside. So Cassandra was right, she thought he was foxy, big deal!  It was no reason to go running to her room to touch herself like some hormonal teenager every time he looked at her. She shuddered, feeling more heat pool in her abdomen, but steadily walked through the arch way to the kitchen.

 

“Rose?”  She jerked her head up, flushing slightly at the sight before her.  She had been too busy sneaking to realize the Doctor wasn’t in the console room when she passed. The Doctor had been sitting at the table but in a flash he was standing, looking like a caged animal, big manic grin, bouncing on the balls of his heels, hands in pockets.  She was used to him being jittery; it looked as though he had been having tea and a chocolate biscuit before her arrival.  Speaking of biscuits she thought he looked absolutely edible all ruffled.  His hair was delightfully tangled from him running his hands through it and his coat and jacket were both hanging over the back of the chair he’d been in, his tie loosely hanging from his neck, the knot pushed down.  His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his pants were creased at the hip.

 

“Doctor.” She smiled in what she hoped was a casual way. “Just thought I’d have a cuppa.”

 

“I thought you were going to bed.”  His eyes darted towards the doorway behind her and she turned around briefly to check if there was something there. Nothing but hallway met her glance. Strange.

 

“Alright?”  His brow furrowed briefly before he nodded, rather jerkily.

 

“M’always alright.” She quirked an eyebrow but ignored the uneasy feeling in the back of her mind.

 

“Mind if I join you then?”

 

“What? Uh, no, not at all. Lovely night for a cuppa. Not that it’s nighttime, not in the vortex. No nighttime here, nope! Just bedtime.”  He sat down and smoothed his trouser legs unnecessarily hard beneath the table, looking tense. “Not that I sleep, much. Your bedtime though. You must be tired, why are you not in bed again?”  His rambling ceased and she smiled at his sudden quiet. She had grown quiet used to his tangents and now fully enjoyed each one for the entertainment value. She was really rather happy that she had ended up finding him anyway because she felt comfortable with his constant talking, although she wasn’t sure about his brief lapses of quiet, those made her worry.  And sometimes his intensity, that was what got her, the oncoming storm. More like the oncoming shag.

 

“Couldn’t sleep. Bit restless, I guess.”  She most certainly was not going to tell him the real reason why. She shivered just thinking about it. Suddenly the Doctor gave a slight gasp. “Doctor?”

 

    He let out a shaky breath and then his head flicked up. “Oi, stop it!” He shouted vehemently.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“She’s laughing at me!”

 

“Who? The TARDIS?”

 

“Yes, the TARDIS,” he looked about moodily, “Oi, I said stop!”

 

    Now Rose started laughing. She couldn’t help it. She loved watching the Doctor and the TARDIS argue. She swore she felt a hum of approval from the old girl.

 

“Now you’re laughing at me?”  He sighed deeply making Rose pause.

 

“I’m sorry, its jus’ funny is all.  You, yelling at the TARDIS like it’ll help.”  She sobered at the withering glance he shot her. “What’s wrong?” Against her better judgment she leaned across the table and laid her hand on his. He sighed again but this time it sounded almost contented before his eyes flew open and he jerked his hand back.  It took a moment for her to realize but the Doctor’s hand had been warm. She leaned back up in shock. “Doctor, you’re, you’re warm!”

 

“Thank you, I noticed actually.”  Her mouth opened a fraction before she stuck her tongue between her teeth and searched through all of her memories, every time they had held hands or touched flashed in her mind.

 

“But you’re never warm. You said your body temperature is cooler than mine, you said you had a more efficient circulatory system or somthin’ like that. Bi-vascular.”

 

“I do. I’m-”

 

“Sick? Are you sick? Is it a fever- Do Time Lord’s get fevers?” The Doctor furrowed his brow and then smiled slightly.

 

“Yes. Right. I’m sick! And you, Rose Tyler, should not be around a sick Time Lord!”

 

“But-”

 

“I should be off to bed than!”  He moved to leave but when he turned towards the door he let out a squeak. Then he lifted his hand a pointed a finger at the blank wall where the door had been. “You. You can’t do that!”  Rose giggled at his fury. Apparently the TARDIS was not happy with the Doctor. He spun on his heel and looked to where the other exit was, off to the side, only it had disappeared as well. They rarely used it since it led in a wide circle back to the console room, and the hall was lined with a large swimming pool and assorted “fun” rooms. Once, when she had been exploring, Rose had run across a room filled with wall-to-wall, multicolored plastic balls of various sizes. Rose giggled again.

 

“What have you done?”  He turned a smoldering look on her that made her brain simply gum up and her belly clench.  “I-I mean to make her mad at you.”  He stalked back to the table and sat down unceremoniously and without his usual grace.

 

“Nothing. I haven’t done anything!” He said that last bit, Rose felt, to the TARDIS.  She still didn’t quite understand but she knew the Doctor was keeping something from her and she didn’t like it.

  

“Not sick are you.”

 

“Oh I am sick, Rose.  Listen to me. You have to ask the TARDIS to let you out of here.”

 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy. Tell me why you’re hot.”

 

“What?” The Doctor’s eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. Rose chose to ignore her own double entendre.

 

“And tell me why you want to get out of here so bad.” She put her hands on her hips imitating her mother and knowing she did a good job of it as the Doctor visibly flinched. Then, to soften the blow, she tucked her head down and let her arms flop to rest at her sides. She looked down at him through her lashes as she sat down. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  He groaned.  It was deep and made Rose shiver. He did it again and stood up, he began to back away.

 

“No.”  Now she was getting irritated. How dare he keep whatever this was from her! She stood up and tried to push back her anger with concern.  She walked over to the jumpy Time Lord pressed against the kitchen counter and laced her left hand with his. His palm was warm and slightly sweaty but Rose ignored it.

 

“Doctor,” her voice was barely a whisper but she felt like nonthreatening might be her best course of action, “why is she mad at you?”

 

    Then the lights flickered out.  Rose yelped audibly and squeezed the Doctors hand.  He let out another one of those groans that sent chills up her spine but she tried to stay focused.

 

“What’s going on?  If you’re sick why isn’t she helping you?” She felt his arm snake around her waist. This wasn’t an unusual position for them but for some reason, in the dark, it felt different. It felt good. Way too good. Rose knew if the lights suddenly came back on there would be a deep blush across her face.  The Doctor sighed above her head.

 

“She is.” His voice was low and throaty as his breath ghosted across her face. She gasped as his fingers bunched in the cotton of her tank top at the small of her back. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in deeply. 

 

“Doctor?”  Her voice was no more than a murmur but it sounded devastatingly loud in the dark kitchen.

 

“Do you know what you smell like Rose?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Do you know that you smell like honey and sugar and…” His voice trailed off.

 

“And?”  He nuzzled her again and sighed.

 

“Pheromones, Rose.”

 

“Pheromones?”

 

“Yes, chemical compounds, produced and secreted by an animal, that influences the behavior and development of other members of the same species. I can smell them whenever I’m near you.”

 

“Oh.”  He pushed her back harshly.

 

“And I promised I would protect you.”  She heard his bark of laughter echo in the space between them.

 

“I don’t need protection in the TARDIS.”

 

“Yes you do,” he growled and she trembled.  She could feel his breath, warm and wet, flutter across her face, “from me.”

 

“But-but you said-”

 

“What did I say Rose?”  He was moving closer to her, she felt the soft graze of his shirt, over her tank top, against her breasts, as he neared.

 

“The pheromones, you said the same species. Why is that important?” His hands were now running up and down her arms and she nervously clenched and unclenched her hands in a steady rhythm to distract herself.

 

“You can’t feel it, but I can. I can smell it on you. The desire, the lust, the need. I can smell them coming off you in waves, its,” his voice broke, “intoxicating. And the time, that small bit of the vortex that became a part of you. That stubborn, tiny bit, I couldn’t get out.  I can feel it burning in your veins. I can smell it, hear it, thrumming underneath your skin. Every day, making you more like me and less like you, every minute changing you.”

 

“What?” His hands suddenly gripped her around the arms, hard.  She could feel his strong, long fingers digging into her flesh.

 

“It’s, she’s, making us compatible.”

 

“She? The TARDIS?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“By manipulating your DNA.” He sighed and let go. She could hear him let out a shaky breath.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

    He growled and this time it sounded angry and before Rose could do anything she was the one pressed against the wall.  Her arms were pinned to her side and she felt the Doctor pressed up against her.

 

“Yes you do. You’re the one releasing the pheromones Rose. That’s not her.”

 

    He nuzzled her neck and released her arms. “I’ve wanted you Rose. I’m guilty because I’ve wanted you. Here.” He pressed a palm into her chest over her heart. “And I’ve wanted you, here.” He pressed his other hand to her temple. Then he moved his head back and slid both his hands down to her waist. “And I’ve wanted you to want me. And that was wrong. And I’m sorry. But now,” she felt his grip on her hips tighten, “I want you- here.” He thrust his pelvis into her and she gasped as she felt his hardness press into her abdomen.  He stayed like that for a moment and she could swear she felt him throb against her.

 

    Then he was gone.

 

    She nearly slid down the wall into a simpering Rose puddle without his strong hands holding her up but somehow she managed to stay upright. She could hear the Doctor muttering to himself not far off.

 

“Bad, Bad Time Lord. Bad Time Lord!” She giggled despite the circumstances. He sounded like he was chastising a five year old. “NOT FUNNY Rose Tyler. Dangerous.” His last word made her suck in a breath and now her fear was dissipating and her hormones kicked in. She felt the wetness between her thighs, that she hadn’t noticed was there earlier, growing. She was slick with want and she rubbed her thighs together. “Stop it!” He growled.

 

“Wha?”

 

“Just stop, you know what.” She felt heat flood her cheeks, oh that. “It’s not safe Rose. It’s wrong. I’ve let this go on too long. I thought I could handle it but I can’t. I’m not in complete control anymore Rose. I’m a danger to you.” He let out a low moan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to let you go yet. This is my fault.” She heard his footsteps coming closer.

 

“S’okay Doctor, really. We’ll get through this.”  She hoped. “I-I want this.” She did, even if he was being a bit on the frightening side.

 

“It’s the biological imperative Rose, to mate. I’m the last of my kind. I won’t be gentle. I can’t.”

 

“Doctor?”  She had barely got the question out before he was on her. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. He locked his mouth over hers, sucking her bottom lip teasingly into his mouth and biting down. When she gasped in protest he snaked his tongue between her lips and proceeded to ravage and suck and bite anything he could reach. She could feel his erection through the thin fabric of her shorts. When she moaned he bit down on her lip again, hard. 

 

    The Doctor pulled back slightly. “I’m so sorry Rose.” It came out sounding as a desperate plea.

 

“It’s okay Doctor.”  Then in a flash she heard the tearing sound of fabric. He was literally ripping the clothes off of her. His hands, sweaty and burning against her skin, skimmed her sides before forcefully pushing aside the lacy purple panties she wore and thrusting his fingers into her. Rose felt her knees buckle as he worked against her.

 

    He nibbled on her ear lobe as he fingered her violently. She cried out as he bit her again on the collar bone and then above her right breast. 

 

    As he licked and bit at her she began to unbutton his shirt and attempted to slide it over his shoulders but he wouldn’t break contact with her so she had to settle on it just being open.  He dragged her down to the ground and pressed her into the floor, his weight heavy on top of her.  He was moaning and growling now in her ear, like a wild animal, as he pressed against her over and over at a feverish pace. Rose had never heard the Doctor sound so, human.

 

    Her train of thought was halted abruptly as the Doctors fingers retreated as well as his body and she heard the tell-tale clicking of a zipper. Then he was back, and she felt nothing but hot skin all around her. He was tugging and tearing at the bra and underwear set that she had so carefully chosen only an hour or so earlier. Rose was awash with sensation. The felt the warmth of his fingertips against her scalp as his fingers tangled in her hair pulling her head to the side, exposing her neck. She felt his tongue, moist and hot, licking trails along her jugular and pressing sloppy openmouthed kisses to her lips. She even noticed the wetness of precum slipping from the Doctors throbbing cock leaving a slick line against her thigh, cooling as the air hit it.

 

    She moaned deeply and the Doctor answered by suddenly gripping her wrists and roughly yanking her arms above her head and holding them there with one hand. His other hand spread her legs wide and then gripped her thigh and pulled it over his waist. She followed suit, wrapping her other leg around his slender waist and hooking her ankles behind his back.

 

    She could feel the tip of his cock teasing her slick center.

 

“I’m so sorry Rose.” His voice brought her back.

 

“Don’t be.” It was all she could say in her lust filled haze before he thrust into her. It was one fluid motion that breached her and filled her completely. He was too big. She felt tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as he tore in and out of her with reckless abandon. She was writhing and whimpering and yelling and moaning and she could hear his guttural pants breathing quickly past her ears. He was punching her tight bundle of nerves with every thrust and as the pain dulled she felt the heat begin to coil in her stomach and her toes curled behind his back. He released her wrists and tangled the one hand in her hair as the other steadied him above her. He bent forward and touched their foreheads together as she screamed her completion into the darkness.

 

    Not more than a thrust later he was crying out above her, pushing deeper with a final drive as he filled her.

 

    The Doctor rolled to the side dragging Rose on top of him, not pulling out or away. She lay on his chest breathing deeply. She noticed absently that his breathing had already slowed to normal and his skin was slick with sweat but pleasantly cool.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“Rose, I’m so-”

 

“Stop it. Don’t be sorry, just stop saying that!” She made to sit up but her already sore arms couldn’t support her weight. The Doctor moved into action quickly gathering her in his arms and cradling her as she cried.

 

“But, I’ve hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

 

“I love you.”  The words had been out of her mouth before she could stop them.

 

“I know. That’s why I didn’t want this to happen.” Somewhere during their tryst the lights had come back on, although considerably dimmer. Rose could just barely make out the Doctor’s face in front of her. “I love you Rose, have since the day I told you to run in the basement of Henricks, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. But now, now I don’t know what she wants me to do.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You can’t leave now. Look at you. You’re marked,” he gently brushed his knuckles over the bruises on her neck and chest. “I couldn’t let you go if I wanted to. You’re mine.”

 

    Rose sniffed indignantly. “I belong to no bloke, Doctor.”  To her surprise his eyes visibly darkened in the weak light.

 

“I’m no bloke Rose, and you do belong to me.” His grip tightened on her hip.

 

“What has gotten into you?” His eyes widened and his grip slackened but his hand remained on her hip.

 

“I can’t help it. I’ve, Oh Rassilon, I’ve mated with you Rose. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Time Lords are too possessive. We don’t make good mates. That’s part of the reason we stopped mating by intercourse.”

 

“What!”

 

“I was one of the only Gallifreyans to be born the, er, old fashioned way. I’m half human, was half human, before my first regeneration. The rest of them were made on these machines called Looms. We stopped mating properly a long time ago, when Rassilon ruled.”

 

“Looms? What’s a Loom?”

 

“Right,” he said twining his fingers in her hair, “it’s like weaving.”  Rose knew her mouth was open but she couldn’t believe it.

 

“You wove Time Lords?”

 

“Well, yes, all Gallifreyans actually.”

 

“So you’ve never…?”

 

“No.  Well, not with this body, or the last. I was a bit of a cad in previous incarnations, never with anyone special. Er, not even my wife.”

  

“I don’t believe it, an entire race without actually reproduction. S’weird.”

 

“We, the Gallifreyans, were much less physically oriented in our later years. We loved less with the body and more with the mind.”  Rose giggled. “What?”

 

“A mind fuck! My mum says that’s what happens when you think too much. She was right!” The Doctor rolled his eyes but he was grinning.

 

“Very clever, that Jackie Tyler.”

 

“I know.”  Rose stretched and as she turned to lay beside her she felt the tell-tale burn and tug as he pulled out of her. She lay beside him in the dim glow of the TARDIS’ kitchen and wondered about the future.  “I’ve wanted to that for a long time you know.” 

 

    He looked over with dark, smoldering eyes. “Quite right to.” She smacked his arm as she was forcefully reminded of Norway and Bad Wolf Bay. He quickly caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss across her knuckles. “Me too.” She swore she saw him blush. “The need to mark you was so strong. After you left I didn’t think it could be any worse. Turns out the pain of losing you only dulled it. I couldn’t imagine you with all of those other people, those other men, and no me around to keep you.”

 

“To keep me what? Company?”

 

“Just to keep you.  It drove me insane.”

 

“So you broke through the Void, almost shattering two universes, just to give me a hickey?”

 

“Yeah.” He was grinning his manic grin then, slightly more wolfish than usual, his eyes darker and his hair thoroughly tousled. “Not just any hickey…or series of hickeys. A true, honest to Rassilon, Time Lord Hickey, complete with a touch of blood, a bit of my magnificent saliva and a chemical compound that does all sorts of things in your primitive little circulatory system!”

 

    She eyed the Doctor speculatively, searching his face.  “Like what?”

 

“Well for starters we might as well be married because no matter how physically attractive a male of ANY species finds you he will be physically incapable of performance from the minute he touches your skin. You realize MY pheromone now!”

 

“What!?!”

 

“And I’ll be able to track you over long distance through space and time as well as tap into your mind without a physical connection.  I can see into your dreams,” his voice dropped an octave, “see your fantasies.”  He trailed off as he began to place kisses along her jaw.

 

“And what do I get?”  The Doctor looked up and met her eyes wearily.

 

“Me?” She arched an eyebrow. “Did I mention you get to carry my little Last of the Time Lords babies?”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Well yeah, bit one sided I know. But you get to help bring up a new race of…well not Gallifreyans exactly, but Time Lords certainly!  And be the only one I do this with.” He kissed her soundly on the mouth, pulling her closer to him. “That pheromone thing works both ways.”

 

    Rose couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face. “I didn’t stand a chance when I walked into the kitchen did I?”

 

“Nope. But I’ll be gentler in the future.”

 

“Always?”

 

“Well…” 

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i'm back

Oct. 18th, 2007 | 01:20 am

After a long long break I am back. I've just enetered myself into the dr.who fandom. yum! I've always been a fan. It must have happened sometime when i was younger eating oreo's and watching reruns from the 70's with my dad. Tom Baker was my favorite up until the new series came out. I love love love it! Christopher Eccleston was fantastic! Although I have to admit that my new favorite in undoubtably the beautiful and squee worthy and all around lovely actor David Tennant! I think he is absolutely fabulous! Not to mention his licky, speccy, sexyness in the across the pond miniseries Blackpool! sigh! well i'm not going to post all that often unless i get attacked by random plotbunnies but at least now when I have a comment its not anonymous! 

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hey now...

Nov. 2nd, 2005 | 08:35 pm

I am working on chappie two of the HP slash and The vampire beginning of that fic I wrote about last time will be up soon. lata.

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Beginning to Red

Oct. 14th, 2005 | 03:32 pm
mood: satisfiedsatisfied
music: Filthy/Gorgeous- Scissor Sisters

OKay so I am working on a novel or possibly a novella depending on how far I plan to take this. This is only a wee little taste of it. The thing is I was very depressed when I wrote it and was afraid to continue it in a better mood, but now I think I am ready to take up the reigns again. SO here it is, if it sucks tell me and then I can lay it to rest without anymore fuss...*nervous giggle* here it goes.

beg of chap one-Coming Home

Everyone has demons, including me, but demons like mine don’t have to be permanent. At least I didn’t think so. That’s how I ended up there, in front of what was once my home. Tossing the empty bottle of cheap whiskey to the side I star for a moment. I can smell the whiskey on my breath when I lift my hand up to wipe the remnants off my mouth and check my watch, 1:43 am. I can still feel her tiny figure being torn from my grasp, I can still hear her crying my name, and I can still feel her hot tears mingling with the blood on my shirt. Many wise and reasonable men know when to leave well enough alone. I have never been considered wise to anyone but myself and I have never been called reasonable.

I wonder if this is really the house I grew up in, imagining how life would have been if I had stayed. Would it have been worse then the train wreck my life has become? Could it have been? Probably yes. The white paint is peeling off of the old siding and I can see my once Black Impala rusting in the drive way. I close my eyes to block out the screams that have haunted my dreams since I left here. “I had to leave.” Not even really able to convince myself. I force my eyes open and gaze up the drive way and back at the windows on either side of the screened in porch. Shakily I shift my weight, where else could I go now, I had to come back, I promised I would. So I saunter up the drive and the rickety stairs that lead to the porch. I swear this filthy screen door is the same one that was here when I left. It could be the whiskey, alcohol makes everything seem so nostalgic sometimes, but I still feel like this is home. Maybe all the time I spent running from this house, this life, I was just running from myself. Because I am sure that the 17 year old boy that I was when I left, still lives here. I shudder in the evening chill. "Fuck."

My swagger falters as I step through the door and onto the porch, I watch bits of rust and paint crack off the screen and rotted frame. The latch clicks louder then I know it is, reverberating in my ears. I jump slightly, picturing the purple faced figure of Al barreling out to teach me a lesson about coming home late, really late. But I am stronger now and older and he couldn't stop me now if he wanted to, but does he? Normally I am not so paranoid or frightened, but then again usually I am not breaking and entering into the house I grew up in hwile smashingly drunk. I walk across the water stained, rotting and discolored wooden porch to the door and ease the key carefully out of the pocket of my jeans. I let out shallow breath that I didn’t know I was holding when the key slides in and turns slowly, unlocking the door. I laugh sharply, it sounds hollow even to me, when I realize it’s not really breaking and entering with a key. They haven’t changed the locks since I left, it’s more like opening and entering, which is hardly a felony. I am fighting back hysteric giggles as I move across the threshold carefully, practically slinking into the house. My heart sinks as nights long ago slide in front of my eyes. I remember staying out as late as I could, hoping my old man would be passed out by the time I got there. If he was then maybe, just maybe, I could avoid the beating that I knew was coming. I stand in the kitchen as the whiskey and nostalgia mingle in my blood stream and I am overcome. This is still my home and I am fearless, strong and beautiful in a place where I was once weak and small. Searing hot salty tears fill my eyes and I call out in contempt and even a little eager curiosity. “I’m Home!”

I let it fall from my lips and into the tangible silence, giving the phrase a singsong kind of sound. It takes only a second for the fear to wash through my veins like liquid ice, gripping my heart. Just silence. No ranting, no movement at all actually. No one is here or if someone is they didn’t hear me. I walk across the kitchen, letting my footsteps thud loudly on the cracked linoleum, to the door of what I remember to be Al and Lynn’s room. I peek in and let my eyes adjust to the dark. The smell of sweat and booze fills my nostrils and my eyes sting from the stale smoke that lingers there. My father is nowhere to be seen but Lynn is lying face down in bed, naked and snoring, passed out and sleeping like a baby. I breathe in deeply as I shut the door, leaving my step mother behind. She seems less threatening and so much smaller now then she did. I don’t remember her like this, I remember her words about the strength of prayer and the good lord almighty, I remember her telling me not to “upset” my father or shirk off my responsibilities because it makes life harder on her, I remember the sneer on her face when she spat out that I would never be allowed back here again. Lifting my head up I look down the hallway and see the door to my room closed, letting a little light through the crack underneath, that will be last, when I go down there I will go to sleep and hopefully not be noticed before I want to be. Further down is Shaun’s door, it’s closed and there is no light coming from the inside. My half sister never slept with the door closed when she was younger; actually she slept downstairs in the basement with me most nights. I couldn’t bear to open the door and disturb her, picturing the sleepy nine year old that showed up so often in the middle of the night, pink nightgown on, hair falling in front of her face as she stood by my bed waiting to be let in. I’d lift up my covers and she would crawl in and bury her head in my neck, drowning out the yells from upstairs. So I turn left and walk into the living room instead. The tattered couch is exactly the way I remember it with loose strings everywhere and stuffing peaking through the arms and on the middle cushion. The same T.V. is turned on in here now that was on its last leg when I left those many years ago. The picture is contorted and confined to a small bar in the middle of the screen and there is no sound. I kick it on the side, knocking a chuck of wood paneling off but restoring the full picture to the screen and it lights up the room just enough for me to see everything. There’s a new leather chair where a glass topped end table once stood next to the couch and a few other odds and ends that I have never seen, but basically the room is identical to memory. The dilapidated look of the living room reminds me of the days we would go into town and pick furniture up off of street corners or from the fronts of houses. This is no doubt the way Al acquired the new furniture as well. The same brown shag carpeting pads my steps as I make my way to the new chair to sit down and prop my legs up on the coffee table. I light a cigarette in a vain attempt to calm my nerves.
Looking down at my hands I attempt the math I most certainly can’t do in my head by this point. It’s been 10 years, almost to the day, since I sat in this room. My head turns to the right and I look out the dirt smudged windows at the unlit gravel road and the muddled crab grass that covers the dark yard. Snuffing out my cigarette in a nearby makeshift ash tray I stand up, spinning back around on my heels; I am almost giddy when I hear a soft lulling noise coming from downstairs. It sounds like music, a quiet singing. I might just see Al tonight after all. Maybe he’s drunk downstairs listening to some old tape or record, its no wonder he didn’t hear me come in. Stepping into the bathroom to take a piss I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the grimy mirror. I search the depths of my own hazel eyes, brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from my face so I can see my reflection better. I’m not seventeen anymore, I’m twenty-seven, that’s a big difference. A ten year difference as a matter of fact. My face is filled out finally and the promise of my youth has given way to a very handsome, very fucked up, man. I remind myself of a much younger Al, still drunk and blurry eyed but more attractive. I’m not so worn in and I don’t have any tattoos of naked women on my arms. I hated that tattoo when I was a kid. He always told me it was my “slut mother.” After I relieve myself I walk calmly back to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. The light flickers and goes out as I stare inside at the contents. I pull a bottle of water out and muster all the courage the whiskey can lend me as I prepare to open the door to the basement. I gulp down the contents of the bottle in a few swift motions and toss it into the garbage can next to the front door. The basement door looms in front of me, I crack it open, ready to begin my decent down the stairs, half expecting to see my old man turn the corner of my room into the stair way any second, stinking of scotch and cigar smoke. A soft yellow light glows and leads me as I cautiously take the first step onto the stairs. I inch slowly; every memory of every creaking step comes back to me as I hop over the 2nd, 5th and 9th stairs from the top. When I reach the bottom a sick churning begins in my stomach, I think I’m going to vomit but I don’t. The silence is only interrupted by what sounds like the slow turning of pages. Until out of the deafening quiet comes the voice I heard earlier but now it is crisp and clean and so much closer then before. It’s not a record or a tape, it’s a person. It must be-

“Shaun” I say out loud and wait. I hear nothing but the same soft singing. I slide my body carefully around the corner, tightly gripping the wall, my knuckles white with effort. I am shocked with my room, or what used to be my room. It has some of the same posters up but there is a new paint job and a new occupant who looks up with wide fearful eyes. She is wearing my old sex pistols t-shirt and is holding a book propped up by her knees. I am racked with guilt, I used to see that look on her face, but I was never the cause. Her hair, the same color as mine, spills out of a loose ponytail tied behind her head and her eyes, so much like mine, glitter with fear. She yanks the headphones off her ears while tossing the book at me in the same movement. She stumbles lunging for the phone that is on an old nightstand, my nightstand, next to the bed, my bed and in a split second I am on her, holding her small waist with one hand and I use the other to cover her mouth. While she fights with me, grunting angrily and trying to bite my hand I try to talk to her.
“Shaun, Shaun it’s me, its Morrison” This stops her; she halts her movements and stiffens up before I let go of her waist and tentatively let my hand drop from her mouth. Turning to look me in the face she breaths out slow and even, but I can see her bottom lip begin to quiver. A look of stoic recognition crosses her face. She’s staring into my eyes almost nervously. Just as fast as it took her to run from me standing in her doorway, she sags against my body, throwing her arms around my neck. I can feel her hot breath in the crook of my neck as I wrap my arms around her; she is shivering and feels warm to the touch. The realization hits, she missed me; she’s probably the only one. I bundle up her still smaller frame as it shakes in my arms and slip onto the floor next to the nightstand. Cradling her body I remember the last time I held her like this, one hand rubbing the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist. She was nine then, which makes her 19 now, it almost sickening how much older she is. The feeling of sickness that is mixing in my stomach is getting stronger because my little, innocent, nine year old Shaun doesn’t live in this house anymore then I do. I rock back and forth as she whispers unintelligible words into my neck and as I begin to cry into the hair that is the exact same color as mine I notice that she smells like citrus shampoo and cigarette smoke. This may not be the baby Shaun I left behind, but it’s still her.
She’s damn near literally falling apart in my arms and the last thing I expect her to do is to push me away, but then she does I am more then a bit startled. I stare blankly at her face, it’s the color of hot embers, burning with an emotion I can’t pinpoint and her eyes seem greener in contrast to her face. She stares at me for along time tears streaking her face and she has pain and anger and an emotion that looks horrifyingly close to despair etched into her features. My reaction to her screams is delayed, I don’t even register there are words coming out of her mouth, but before I know it they are tearing through me. She seems so angry and the questions fly out of her mouth so fast that I can’t respond.

“Where were you?” She cries “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you come back for me? Do you know what it’s been like here!?!” She stumbles over her words as they poor forth in a vicious tirade. “You-” She brakes off, loosing some of her resolve before continuing, “You-you left me!” Her sobs become steadier but she is still stammering screams at me. I don’t know what to say to that. It’s true, she’s right, but I manage to slur out in protest.
“Shhhh.” I mutter, “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry Shaun.”
“Sorry?” She’s calm, it’s the calm before the storm, and I can feel it brewing beneath her mask. “Sorry!!” She’s trembling now, her voice shakes. “Sorry isn’t good enough! Not enough! Not enough! Not enough! Sorry can’t erase ten years of waiting! Fuck you Morrison! Fuck you! You drunk Bastard! Just like Dad!” She spits out my name like my father did. Al used to say my name like it was the dirtiest, most filthy word in the language; her tone stings my ears. I know there is more love and disappointment in her voice then there ever was in Al’s, but the alcohol is making everything muddied and confused.
“Shaun. Shaun please, I’m sorry, I-I couldn’t-” I stumble over my words as they flow out of my mouth in a drunken garble. I reach for her but she is still fuming so she jerks her leg away from me. Her hair flying wildly about her face, sticking to the tears and her body is shaking with anger. Part of me knows as she berates me she is only upset because I wasn’t there and part of me knows that I deserve it. Still I can’t help feel like this isn’t the Shaun I left behind, this cannot my innocent Shaun, this girl is a hardened and foul mouthed copy of my Shaun. She is still glaring at me and mumbling angrily, but she isn’t trying to hurt me, instead she is simply chiding me, like a petulant child. As she turns, hands on her head I see the bruises on the back of her legs and some on her neck, they mirror the ones I had on mine. I am haunted with thoughts of Al, knowing he put them there. Why didn’t she leave? Her angry glare and words are mixed in with endearments and pleads. The alcohol has wormed its way into my brain by now and I can’t really make out what she is saying, I do notice however that it is steadily growing in volume. I hear pained cries and shouting echo in my mind and I have to make it stop. Where is it coming from, Shaun?

“Shhh,” I hiss as I begin to stand and reach out to her once more, my fingers grasping at the empty air between us. Not for the purpose of being near her like last time, this time it is for balance as I attempt to rise and stop the room from spinning. She grabs my arm and shoves it away from her, but I am up now and angry. I have gained some balance and can manage the vertigo if I stare at an unmoving object, so I focus my eyes on her. It’s my turn to glare. I lunge forward, catching her off guard and grabbing her by both shoulders. I move to push her to the ground where I was a moment before but in my state she managed to latch onto my arms and pull me down with her. I don’t mean to but because of my inhibited motor skills, I fall forward fast and land on her, hard, knocking the breathe out of her. She is struggling against my body, gasping for air and I can feel her face trying to scream but her words are muffled by my chest. I huff as I try to push myself up on my hands but she goes to break free and I fall again. Knowing I have to keep her down I begin to grind my hips into her body, holding her in place as I slither down her torso so that we can be face to face. The friction and aggression of the situation make things more complicated, I try to ignore the growing erection pushing into the front of my jeans but I can feel the pre cum leaking out of my slit and I tremble with disgust and power as I continue to move down her. I stop only when I’m looking directly into her eyes. I can see defiance glimmering in the flecks of gold that litter her irises, flecks of gold just like mine. I can only pray that she can’t feel the lust in my touch and the weight of my body against hers.

We are silent for a long while as we stare at each other, she’s crying now, silently, letting the tears flow down the sides of her face and onto the beige carpeting on the floor. I can feel her warm, lithe figure lift up and down beneath me as she labors to breath. After what seems like forever she lifts one hand and cups my face in her palm. I lean down and kiss her gently, chastely on the lips. When I lift back up I can see she is confused, raising one eyebrow and parting her mouth to ask a silent question. Before I know what’s happening my eyes are closed and the full weight of my body is on her as I let my arms, my only support above her, bend at the elbow, dropping me down. I push my way into her mouth softly at first but gaining urgency by the second. She feels so warm inside and she tastes so good. I savor that taste as I explore her body with my hands. Is she struggling? Why? She loves me, she missed me, she should be glad I’m back. I grind my hips into hers hard, harder then I meant actually, but she is mewling into my mouth and the vibrations spread heat all through my body. I push my tongue deeper into her mouth and soon I feel her hands roaming onto my body as well. I lift my hips up and wriggle out of my pants, thankful I am not wearing boxers because I hadn’t had time to do laundry the morning I left. She begins pushing away but I force her down into the carpet by her shoulders. I lean down to kiss her and I taste her hot and salty tears mingling with perspiration, I lick my own lips, wanting to taste her again as I slide my hand down and then up the over sized t-shirt she had been planning to sleep in. I insert my fingers into her, moving deliberately and slowing in and out of her body. She begins writhing at my touch and I decide I can’t hold off any longer. Wrapping one hand behind her neck and the other around the small of her back I lift her up enough to slide her t-shirt the few inches it took for me to feel her downy soft auburn pubic hairs against my abdomen. The feeling sends a bolt of electricity down to my groin, making my twitch with anticipation. I shove in mercilessly, ignoring her cry and only wanting to stop the throbbing of my cock. Once I am inside though I move slowly, in and out, my eyes closed listening to her whimpers and moans. She is so tight and warm and wet. It takes all the control I can gather in my drug induced haze not to shoot right then. She pushes back at me for a few thrusts but I realize that after the first few she is rising to meet me as I thrust all the way into her. Now the pace is hurried, I couldn’t slow down if I wanted to; I feel her breasts press against me as she lifts herself up, curling her arms underneath mine and gripping my shoulders from behind. Her body shakes as her walls tighten and contract on my pulsing cock, I can’t take it anymore. Our frantic panting is the only sound heard in the house as my orgasm rips threw me. I shut my eyes and don’t open them again until I have collapsed on top of her. Her breathing is shallow and she is shivering, I want to comfort her but I can’t get my body to move. So she comforts me in my final moments, brushing my hair off of my forehead gently. I feel darkness claiming me as my eyes flutter once more before drifting shut on her choked murmurs.

I’m awoken by a dull throbbing in my temples. When I open my eyes I am greeted with dim yellow light. Not the light of morning but the flitting light of a low wattage light bulb. I shudder and dip my head down, hoping to block out the glow. I think I have to stop falling a sleep anywhere I feel like. That’s when it happened. Shaun shifted beneath me and all of a sudden the night’s events came crashing down on my already pounding head. “Oh, God.” I’m going to be sick. I stand unsteadily and make my way to the adjoining laundry room. I trip standing up, with my pants around my ankles, almost landing in a pile of filthy clothes but regain my balance in time to make it to the calcium and rust covered basin. Disoriented I grip the edge and heave forward. The liquid diet from the night before and bits of diner hash browns tumble out of my mouth. The cold sweat dampens my face and tears well up in my eyes as I empty myself out. I can’t get the images out of my head and they flash in front my eyes as if they will forever be burned into my retinas. Her whimpers and sobs echo in my mind like a roaring tempest. I squeeze my bloodshot eyes and try to only listen to the sound of my own retching. I heave again and the smell of bile burns my nostrils and I begin to cry again. I spit and breathing heavily I curse myself.
“Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, SICK BASTARD!” I’m chanting it like a prayer. It’s not real. Please God, I don’t ask for much, don’t let this be real. I can feel the beads of sweat drip down my forehead and the earth is still and hard beneath my feet and I know it’s true. I heave again and let myself slide to the floor sobbing and as I rest my cheek on the cool metal of the dryer I hear her pad in, her bare footsteps slap against the concrete floor.
“Morrison?” How is it exactly, that she can feel concern for me? How is it possible?
“Stay away! Run! Leave me alone!”
“I’m okay Morrison, its okay. Let me help you.”
“Get away from me Shaun! It’s not okay! I’m fucked up.” I can’t do anything but mumble my apologies as she leans down and strokes my head. She turns the water on above me and I can hear the drain eagerly suck down what I spit out. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me on to my feet while simultaneously turning off the faucet. Now she’s shakily leading me into the bedroom, supporting all my weight on her petite little frame. I want to die, I want to disappear and I tell her this softly as she lays me on her bed and begins undoing my shoelaces and undressing me. As her long fingers scrape against the lower half of my abdomen and she glides my pants from around my ankles I know I’ll never forget. Maybe I don’t even want to and I shut my eyes on the scene, trying to block out my own hideous and perverted thoughts. Hate me Shaun, please hate me. I urge her with my mind to despise me, but I secretly hope she won’t, I hope she forgives me. She shouldn’t, but how I do wish she would.
I must be shivering because she covers me up with an afghan before turning out the lights. We’re bathed in darkness, not pitch black but the soft dark just before dawn. When outside I know the lines on the horizon are blurry with light. I languidly sit up, hoping to be able to wash my mouth out and then run from this cursed house. When my eyes fully adjust however my body freezes up. Shaun is watching me, smoking a cigarette. I cough, tasting the bitter acids in my mouth and sigh, she doesn’t even flinch, just watches. In pain I drop my body back into the bed and lay still, eyes closed, listening to her breath. I hear her grind out the cigarette and stretch out on the couch perpendicular to me, pulling the covers over her. This time I lay for what seems like a long while before sleep comes to claim me, staying awake just long enough to see the suns warm rays come through the frayed blue curtains of the basement windows.

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bloodbonds

Oct. 14th, 2005 | 03:10 pm
mood: artisticartistic
music: My Beautiful Friend-Charlatans UK

“Oi, Harry! Hurry up, I’m starving!” Ron whined from the bottom of the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room. The last thing Harry wanted was to go to the end of the year feast. He knew what the feast meant; it meant a return to number 4 privet drive. Admittedly last summer in Little Whinging hadn’t been too horrible thanks to a good bit of helpful intimidation courtesy of Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Remus. It was still the last place Harry felt like going home to though after a year at Hogwarts. Especially with the war underway and knowing his company and information would be limited.

Harry sighed and took off at a jog down the stairs just in time to catch Ron, Hermione and Neville stepping through the port hole and into the hallway. While Hermione excitedly chatted about her preparations for the N.E.W.T.’s coming up next year and Ron talking with Neville easily ignoring Hermione’s chatter Harry thought about ways to successfully avoid leaving Hogwarts or maybe to stay at Grimmauld place. His thoughts were interrupted however with the appearance of a shadow hovering over them that looked remarkably like the form of Professor Severus Snape.

“Potter,” Said Snape coolly. “The Headmaster would like a word with you after the feast.”

“What? I-” Harry started to plead his innocence but was interrupted briskly.

“Potter I understand it must be hard to focus with that big head on your shoulders but, do try. A word-with the Headmaster-after the feast.” Snape repeated his message slowly as if Harry didn’t speak English.

“Yes, sir” He replied annoyed. He almost asked what it was about but Snape was gone with a swish of his cloak. Harry’s thoughts perked up a bit at the new development.

“Maybe he wants to talk to me about staying at Hogwarts for the summer! Or with you guys!” Ron’s excited agreement was drowned out by Hermione.

“Hmmm, maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “but I’m sure he wants you where you’ll be safest and I thought that was at your aunt and uncles house.” Harry frowned. “But I could be wrong!”

In the Great Hall everyone was laughing and talking excitedly and after the speech they continued talking while they ate. Everyone that is except Harry, whose mind was on the meeting he was to have with Dumbledore. He tried to stay in the conversation but was having trouble talking while he eagerly shoveled food into his mouth. Seeing this Hermione leaned over Ron and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Dumbledore’s left Harry. We’ll bring some food back to the common room for you. Now go on, we know you want to see what he has to say.”

Harry smiled and nodded a quick thank you before he darted out. In all his rush he failed to notice that Malfoy and Snape were absent from the Great Hall as well. Hermione didn’t though.

“I wonder what Dumbledore wants to talk to Harry about?” She said to know one in particular as she joined in on the conversation.

Harry rushed down the through the hallways eager to get to the headmasters office but was slightly put off by who he found there.

“Potter? What’s he doing here?” The familiar voice drawled as Harry approached.

“Ah, well Draco, the Headmaster wishes to speak to both you and Potter this evening.”

Harry just sneered at Malfoy behind Snape, who said the password-“blood pop”- and they began to ascend the stairs to professor Dumbledore’s office. When the three of them walked in the Headmaster nodded for them to sit down.

“Thank you Severus that will be all.” He said smiling at the potions master. As Snape walked out Dumbledore turned and looked down at both of them, his eyes twinkling brightly behind his half moon spectacles, “I suppose you are wondering why you both are here?”

“Well yes professor,” Harry managed, hoping his eagerness didn’t show and hoping the reason he was here had nothing to do with Malfoy.

“Ice Mice?? Tea perhaps?” Both boys looked at him quizzically. “No? Alright well it could be about your perspective living arrangements this summer, but first I think there is someone you should both meet. She is currently residing outside of Hogwarts but no matter. I have had a portkey set up and you should be greeted by Remus Lupin when you reach your final destination.” Harry’s eyes lit up at the words ‘living arrangements.’

“The half-breed? The we-werewolf? I don’t think my father would approve of this. Why exactly am I involved in Potters living arrangements?”

“Well I think you will find it in your best interest to accompany Harry on this little trip because it concerns you in a far greater way then it does him. But you are welcome to decline although I had hoped you wouldn’t.” If there was any way to get Draco to go anywhere it was to tell him his role was more important then Harry Potters. He sighed but nodded his agreement. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Splendid! Well then you will find your portkey right over there on that table and I am quite famished. I think I will see if there is anymore of that delightful treacle tart left in the great hall. I rather suspect there is. Ah, yes. Well I will leave you two to it then. See you both soon. Good-bye,” Dumbledore said in a chipper air. Then in the blink of an eye his was out of the room and off on his way down the stairs. Harry looked at Malfoy and did a mental shrug before gesturing to the table and the small copper kettle that sat on top of it.

“Shall we?” Harry turned from the table to Draco who was still sitting.

“Fine, fine scarhead. In a hurry to see your half-breed friend?” Malfoy smirked at his own joke.

“Just take the damn portkey before you bloody turn into that hateful wench Umbridge!” Harry’s blood was boiling and he wanted nothing more then to hex the fair haired wizard next to him but he knew he had to restrain himself.

“Mmm, touchy Potter, very tou-” But Malfoy was cut off by the familiar pull between his navel before they landed on top of each other in a heap on the floor of a cramped hallway.

“Get off me Malfoy!” Harry cried as he opened his eyes only to see Draco’s silver ones glowing in the dark. Malfoy scrambled to his feet as Remus Lupin came swiftly out of a room off to the side and grabbed Harry’s arm to help him up.

“Sorry I wasn’t here boys I was just speaking with our guest. Good trip?” Remus smiled warmly at Harry and turned and regarded Draco with open curiosity.

“Not really!” Draco was red faced and angry. “What is this? Where am I?” That’s when Harry realized they were on the second floor of Grimmauld Place, outside of the drawing room.

“Mr. Malfoy, how are you?”

“Just wonderful!” Draco said angrily rubbing his elbow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Where am I?!?”

“You Draco, may I call you Draco, are at the Headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix.

“WHAT!” Harry shouted in despair, “Don’t tell Him!”

“Harry, Harry calm down. You’ll understand soon enough. I would like to talk to you Harry but there are more pressing matters. Why don’t you boys go and speak with our guest while I prepare some tea for when you’ve finished.” Harry stood confused but Draco jumped in anger.

“What Order? Who is it exactly that everyone is so bloody fucking eager for us to meet!” Draco shouted as Lupin opened the door to the drawing room and a voice floated out.

“Ah, ah, ah, language my dragon.”


Draco, who had been stomping after Lupin, froze, his hand griped Harry’s wrist as he had been about to through Harry out of the way. Harry shook him of his arm and moved to step inside but Draco stood stark still.

“Are you coming Malfoy?” He spoke without a hint of the attitude he was used to speaking with. Draco seemed to notice to.

“I’m coming golden boy. Don’t get your panties all twisted in a bunch.” Draco’s reply lacked his intensity and Harry wondered who the woman was that had spoken and how had she caused such a response from his nemesis. When they stepped through the door they saw a woman standing with her back to them. She had long black hair that fell to the middle of her back and she was wearing muggle cloths. The outfit consisted of a black tank top and tan cargo pants that hung from slender hips. Her arms were pale and hung loosely at her sides as she stared at what Harry remembered to be Sirius’ family tree.

“I’ll leave you three alone to get acquainted.” Remus was gone in a matter of moments but neither Harry nor Draco gave any signs of noticing.

They watched as the woman lifted her arm and pointed to the left side of the tapestry. “I should be right,” she let her hand hover before touching it to a small hole in the fabric, “here.” Then she turned around and Harry’s breath caught in his throat, she was breathtakingly beautiful and oddly familiar. He heard a gasp not unlike his own to his right and turned to see Draco’s face frozen in shock. Harry noticed the shock lingering behind Draco’s silver crystalline eyes, eyes Harry refused to admit to himself that he found amazingly attractive. When he looked back it slowly dawned on him that the eyes he found so breathtaking on the woman were the same eyes he found so breathtaking on the young man beside him. She had pointed to the tapestry, Sirius’ tapestry, the tapestry with Draco’s name beautifully embroidered on it.

“Bee?” Draco stuttered out, letting out a shuddering breath.

“Draco, it’s been too long my darling dragon.”

“No-no your dead. You can’t be here.”

“Draco I am here standing before you, alive as I have ever been. Of course mother and Narcissa said I was dead. To them I am.”

“Wait, who are you?” Harry had to interrupt their conversation, he wasn’t following. She turned and looked apologetically at Harry.

“I’m sorry, I have yet to introduce myself. You are Harry Potter and I am Bellatrix Black, formerly known as Bellatrix Lestrange,” she paused, “the second.”

“Black?” Harry and Draco asked unwittingly in unison.

“Yes, Black, in memory of my beloved uncle, Sirius Black. I take it you have heard of him Draco?” She was met with shocked silence. “And you Harry, Remus has told me that when you met your godfather you were both completely inseparable.”

Draco’s eye’s opened impossibly wider. “Beloved uncle? Godfather?” He looked confused and strangely enough angry. “Why would they LIE to me?”

“They didn’t lie to you Draco,” she replied softly. “They were honest. When I refused the dark mark, I died in there eyes.” She opened her arms wide for the boys to see her porcelain white, unblemished forearms. Then her smile returned as she beckoned to Draco who stepped cautiously into her waiting arms. Harry grinned when he heard Draco sigh contentedly. The minute he stepped back however he caught Harry’s grin and shot him a scathing look.

“What are you smiling about Potter?”

“What I smile about is none of your damn business Malfoy!” Harry angry glared at his polar opposite.

“Hm,” Bellatrix cocked her head to the side, observing them. “Remus was right; you both will have to learn to get along.”

“Not bloody likely,” Malfoy exclaimed shooting another look at Harry. “Besides, why is Potter even here? What has he got to do with you and me?”

Bellatrix straightened her shoulders and righted her head her. She looked hard at Malfoy, and then lifted her hand to his cheek. “Now is the time to choose sides Draco. The war has begun and this summer they will ask you to take the mark. They asked me the summer after my seventh year, but they will not wait for you darling. The war has changed everything and you will be expected to join them as soon as possible. I endured four cruciatus curses before I got away when I refused. They will not be so forgiving now that the Dark Lord is rising again to power.” She shook her head sadly. “I have already risked too much in having Dumbledore bring you here, to the headquarters of the Order, but I needed to know if you will be friend or foe. My little dragon, would you take the mark and forsake me? Would you take the mark and be a servant to the Dark Lord, bow to him and do his biding? If your answer is yes, then return to the hallway, take the portkey back to Hogwarts, return home tomorrow on the train and forget that you have seen me. If the answer is no, then understand that you join us. You join me and Harry and Dumbledore and the side of the light. You forsake the rest of your family and you turn your back on the Dark Lord. You will never see them again as a family, but as an enemy. You will see them as they will see you. You will not return to Malfoy Manor as a resident ever again.”

Malfoy looked nervously back and forth from her face to the floor and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then he whispered softly something Harry could not hear. Harry inched forward ever so slightly and strained his ears.

“What?” Bellatrix looked imploringly at the young blond.

“No.” He whispered with a little more force. Still Harry could barely make it out as he chanced a few steps closer. Bellatrix just smiled before looking at Draco quite sternly and clearing her throat.

“I don’t believe I heard that. Say again.”

Harry was shocked and jumped back a few inches with Draco’s response.

“NO! I will not take the bloody DARK MARK!” Draco’s pitch lowered considerably but he was firm and resolute, “I’d rather die. A Malfoy is no house elf, I serve no one.”


Bellatrix was beaming when she gestured towards Harry. “Alright, then this is where Harry comes in. Draco, Harry is a bright and talented boy but he did not survive the killing curse as a child because he was talented. He survived because of an ancient form of magic that his mother performed. She gave her life for his. Her love runs through his veins and it protects him.” Draco’s mouth dropped a little bit but he quickly restrained himself. “Now the home he lives in with his aunt and uncle is a muggle home and would normally not be the place for a young wizard. But he stays there because as long as he calls it home the blood that ran through his mother’s veins and runs through his aunt’s veins will keep him safe. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded, a little shocked. “The Dark Lord can’t touch him there.”

“Exactly right Draco. Now since you will not be going home because it will be too dangerous for you there you will need a place to live. The only person they will want to find and kill more then you will be Harry.”

“But Harry will be safe; his mother’s blood protects him. I-I have nothing to protect me.” Harry turned cold, he was anything but safe. Although he had to admit Draco had nothing compared to the support and love Harry had.

“Ah, ah. That’s where you’re wrong. If you two perform this bit of magic I have here on this piece of paper,” she reached down into her pocket and produced a bit of parchment, “and Harry is willing to share his mother’s protection with you, then you will both be safe. Provided you both agree to perform the spell and live together in Little Whinging with Harry’s aunt and uncle.” Draco looked nervously at Harry who could do nothing but nod his approval. A thought occurred to him though.

“What about the Dursley’s, they won’t like this.”

“Well professor Dumbledore has already spoken with them and they have agreed to take in Draco provided he stay out of the way and sleep in your room.” The idea of sleeping with Draco in the same room made Harry flush with nervousness. He was, more then he cared to admit, intrigued with the thought. And when he ventured a glance at the blond Slytherin he could guess that Draco felt the same way from his downcast eyes and the slight bit of color on the back of his neck.

“How exactly would I go about sharing my protection with Ma-Draco?” Harry asked in an attempt to vanish the picture of the sleeping Slytherin from his mind.

“By sharing your blood with him of course.”

“Oh, of course” Draco said under his breath.

“Um, what does that mean?” Harry asked curiously.

“Well,” she smiled at the confused youth, “You must each slice a gash into your own palms. Then you cut a slice into the others lower lip. You will each say the incantation and kiss the palm of the other in turn, first one then the other. Then you will bring your palms together and repeat the incantation together. That’s all, you will be blood bonded.” She smiled wide and waited for the boys reactions.

“I-err, will there be any residual side effects to the bond?” Malfoy asked shallowly. At this Bellatrix frowned slightly.

“Well you may be able to sense if the other is hurt or in danger. And occasionally feelings may…” She trailed off but Harry wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Feelings may what?”

“Well, on occasion if the witches or wizards involved a particularly interested in each other, then there feelings, um, intensify. But you boys can barely stand each other so that shouldn’t be a problem. Also I must warn you that I have heard the act of blood bonding is very physical and, how do I say, exciting.”

“Exciting?” Draco questioned suspiciously.

“Well, arousing.”

“Oh.” He fell silent.

“Well then, now that you both know all the particulars and have agreed to this why don’t you get started? Just take off your school robes and role up your sleeves.” She walked to the door, “This is quite personal so I will just leave you with the Spell and instructions. By the way it’s pronounced exactly as its sounds, Hemo-apoxia.” She then handed Harry a silver, jewel handled dagger. “For your palms and lips, the cuts don’t have to be too deep, but they must be substantial. If the bonding was formed correctly they will heal moments after you have broken contact. Remus and I will be in the kitchen. Good Luck!”
And with that, she was out the door.


“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry wanted to make sure that Draco didn’t feel pushed. These things rarely work when you’re forced.

“Of course I am Potter, I value my life. Though living with you in muggle hell will be rather horrible.” Harry could do nothing but stare into the silver eyes and disregard his snide remarks when Harry saw the fear that swims just beneath Draco’s surface. Harry simply nodded and stepped in front of Malfoy. He slid his robe off and threw it to the side and watched as Malfoy did the same. He could feel Malfoy’s hot breath on his face as his lifted his head up in pain from the gashes he made in his own palms. He was only coherent enough to hear Malfoy’s breathing hitch.

“Your turn,” said Harry smugly. He handed the now bloody handled dagger to Draco who took it with a swift glance at Harry’s hands. In a flash Draco had sliced down the middle of his own hands, with little more then a flinch. Harry was impressed. He didn’t have much time to concentrate because Malfoy’s words brought him back to the room.

“Hold still Potter.” Malfoy was grumbling when his hand shot up and caught Harry’s chin to hold it in place. Harry thought for a second that Malfoy was going to kill him but then he remembered about cutting each others lower lips. It seemed a little sexual for regular magic, but he brushed off his suspicion. When Draco lifted the cold dagger to Harry’s lip it sent a shiver through his whole body. He imagined Draco’s hot blood on the dagger dripping in to the cut on his lip. When the dagger finally cut through the skin Harry’s groin twitched in anticipation, he groaned and for a moment forgot it was his turn. He took the dagger Draco was holding out to him and lifted it to the blonds beautiful pouted lips. He saw Draco’s eyes slip shut when he brought the dagger down the half inch it took to cut the blonds lip. He looked to the table next to them and set the dagger down, only realizing on a double take that there was no blood on it.

Harry and Draco stood dumbly in the middle of the room staring at each other for a few moments before they noticed they were bleeding.

“Lets get on with it then before I bleed to death,” Draco held his palms out. Harry couldn’t help but smirk. He leaned over and took Draco’s hands in each one of his own and brought his lips to the right first and then the left. He felt a wave run through him and it seemed to center between his legs and his breathing became shallow as he stood up and said the spell.

“Hemo-apoxia.”
Draco looked at him with a raised eyebrow but said nothing, for once. He reached down and took Harry’s hands in his own. Harry realized that for such pale skin it was rather warm and very soft. He felt Draco’s lips touch his left palm first and then his right. He felt the almost imperceptible little lick Draco gave to his right palm with a shudder. Draco lifted and spoke the words.

“Hemo-apoxia.”

Harry watched as Draco lifted his face. It was flushed with color and his silver eyes were glittering in the dim light of the room. Shaking a silky blond hair out of his face he put his hands out and gestured for Harry to do the same. Harry did and he felt Draco’s palms shiver beneath his before grasping their palms together. They both shook and struggled to stay up. It felt like hot blood and power were flowing back in forth in a circle between there hands. Draco tried to pull away but he couldn’t seem to move his hands. He looked up into Harry’s face to plead for help but Harry’s eyes were a deep green Draco had never seen before and half-lidded, filled with lust. He felt it mirrored back in his own and tried to get his body to move back but he unknowingly took a step forward. Harry watched as Draco closed the gap between them but it was as if he no longer had any control over his emotions. He was filled with heat and passion as the blood and magic flowed between them. Then he watched as Draco’s mouth parted just so and a little drop of blood formed on his lip and dripped down his chin.

Harry wanted it more then anything. He leaned forward and slipped his tongue out to lap up the drop of blood. Draco tensed but sighed comfortably at the touch and felt a hot shiver run through his body. Draco stepped forward again after Harry pulled away. They were now flush up against each other and Harry felt Draco’s hard cock press against his own impossible hard cock. That feeling caused Harry’s conscious mind to fly right out the window. He leaned forward and crushed his lips against Draco’s who hungrily opened his mouth and took in Harry’s tongue eagerly tasting all the Gryffindor had to offer.

There hands shot apart even though they barely noticed as the grabbed franticly at each other while the left over blood after the wounds had healed spread over their faces and clothes. They tore at each others cloths franticly biting and sucking and nibbling at each others necks and lips. Harry broke away for a moment to look at the beautiful blond angel before him and smiled fiercely. Draco smiled knowingly as well and grabbed the shorter boy around the waist and dragged him down to the floor. Harry covered Draco and ground his hips down into the boys groin eliciting moan after moan while he bit his lip. Pushing Harry pants down with his foot Draco was pleased to see the goody-two-shoes Gryffindor hadn’t worn any underwear. He flipped Harry over and began kissing down his body licking and nibbling at his nipples, circling each with his tongue before slithering down further and dipping his flattened tongue into Harry’s navel and feeling Harry writhe beneath him. Harry heard Draco hum softly as he licked and blew and sucked at his hip bone and his inner thigh. Harry reached at his sides desperately looking for something to grip as he fought not to thrust up. He abandoned this endeavor when in a swift fluid motion Draco took Harry in his mouth and enveloped him in intense heat and wetness. Harry moaned and cried out as he thrust up into the Slytherin’s waiting mouth, gripping the silver blond strands of hair in his fist. The heat was coursing through him pushing him closer to the edge but then Draco stopped. Harry whimpered in protest but was silenced when he felt Malfoy’s talented tongue dart out to tease him, out to lap at his balls, taking first the right and then the left one into his mouth. Rolling each one around in his mouth and suckling gently.
Harry was back to moaning when he felt Draco’s hand reaching up and sliding up over his stomach. Harry’s hand shot up from his side and he grasped Draco’s hand in his and intertwined their fingers. He lifted his head up and eyed Draco.

“Suck on it.” Draco’s words were short but his voice was gentle. Harry leaned down and sucked and the one of the fingers that was offered up to him. He took in the second and third into his mouth as well while Draco’s tongue flitted over his skin. Once Draco apparently felt they were wet enough he removed the fingers from Harry’s mouth and smiled. Harry smiled back and watched as Draco came up and planted a long and rough kiss on his lips. Before Harry knew it the kiss was over and Draco had shoved the first finger into his ass. Draco waited for Harry to adjust and when Harry finally laid back down and let out an even breath Draco inserted the second finger slowly and began scissoring them. Harry was breathing in sharp hitches and his back was arching up while he squeezed his eyes shut. Draco entered the third finger while burying his face in Harry’s pubic hair, savoring his scent. Harry smelled like sex and cinnamon. Once he was sufficiently stretched and was practically mewling under Draco’s ministrations Draco removed the fingers and lifted Harry’s legs up and placed an ankle on each of his shoulders. He looked at Harry and smiled warmly. Who smiled back shyly, face full of lust and wanting. Draco quickly used his pre-cum to lubricate his own cock and placed it at the entrance to Harry’s hole. Draco slowly pushed in and even though he had taken the time to prepare Harry properly he was still so tight. Draco brought his head down to taste his lover’s lips as he slide past the first ring of muscle. When he was the rest of the way in he waited for Harry to adjust to the fullness. He had never seen Harry look more beautiful. He eyes sparkling deep forest green and his face flush and pink, his hair wantonly all about and his lips parted just so, swollen and red. Harry dropped his legs down and wrapped them around Draco’s waist and began urging him forward. Harry had never felt so full in his whole life. He clawed at Draco’s back and pushed him forward with his legs. Draco started out slowly but soon he was pounding into Harry so hard that Harry cried out and pushed himself up meeting every one of Draco’s thrusts. Harry could hear himself panting eagerly but he didn’t care all he cared about were the stars he saw every time Draco hit that spot and the way Draco was chanting Harry’s name like a mantra under his breath in time with his thrusts. Harry felt himself coming close and as if Draco sensed it he reached between them and grabbed Harry’s cock and began fisting it quickly. Harry’s senses were in over drive and he clenched his muscles around Draco’s cock as he shot his seed over Draco’s hand and up his own chest. As he clenched and panted riding out his own orgasm he heard Draco scream out “HARRY!!” as he filled Harry up with burning but oh so wonderful fluid.



“Oh, sweet Merlin!” Harry cried letting his head smack the floor.

When it was over Draco collapsed on top of him and lay there for a moment. Harry smiled and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“What was that exactly?” He heard Draco mumble into his shoulder.

“Amazing,” sighed Harry in response.


After the boys stood up and awkwardly got dressed they made their downstairs to the kitchen where Remus and Bellatrix sat talking at the Kitchen table. Harry blushed and hoped that they didn’t hear them. He was worried that maybe they had and would expect him and Draco to be…a couple. Something Harry wasn’t sure he wanted and if he did, he was sure it was something Draco would want nothing to do with. As it was Harry had always sort of “known” he liked boys, he was just having trouble grasping that maybe he liked a certain blonde boy. As they sat down and Remus poured them both some tea, Draco and Harry just stared at the floor nodding occasionally when asked whether or not they wanted some biscuits. Bellatrix lifted her eyebrow and contemplated the young men in front of her.

“Did everything go alright up there?”

“Yes!” Harry and Draco answered a little too quickly.

“Did you have sex?”

“Wh-what!” Harry cried spiting out his tea.

“Bella?” Remus seemed confused by the revelation of his friend.

“Well sometimes it’s common for the wizards or witches involved to loose control in the passion of bonding.”

“You KNEW!?!” Draco shouted.

“Well yes, but I didn’t think it would be a problem until I spoke to Remus who has informed me that you are both Gay.”

“You’re gay?” Harry eyed Draco.

“Yes, Potter if you haven’t noticed, I’m out. You on the other hand are not. Why weren’t we warned?” Draco said turning to Lupin.

Remus stared from one to the other and then back again while Harry changed progressively in color from light pink to a deep shade of crimson, almost purple even. Harry’s embarrassment obviously meant they did indeed have sex and this wasn’t some sort of sick joke. So he decided honesty was the best policy.

“To be honest Draco,” He started.
“Yes?”

“Well I had over-looked that particular side effect of the bonding.”

“OVER-LOOKED!!!” Now Draco was the one changing colors, but not out of embarrassment, out of anger. Harry’s face shot up in pain as Draco glared at the werewolf across the table from him.

“Stop fighting.” All eyes turned to the shaggy haired young man who had yet to rise into the argument as they had. “My blood aches.” Draco’s mouth opened in silent apology but Bellatrix was already answering.

“He’s right. The bond is still young and the blood is still fresh. No wonder the poor boy hurts. It probably feels like his blood is boiling from Draco’s anger”

“Right, right Bella,” said Remus agreeing.

Draco sat back down and looked sullenly at his tea and biscuits before venturing to break the silence. “When can me and Ha-Potter go back to Hogwarts?” Harry was visibly grinning like a fool on the other side of the table and Draco was happy he had elicited such a response.

“Yeah, Hermione and Ron said they would save me some food from the great feast. I really didn’t get a chance to eat.”

“Me neither,” Draco chimed in.

“Well I’m afraid that you won’t be going back to Hogwarts this evening, or until your seventh year. It’s just not safe.” This time it was Harry who was ready for a row. Harry stared at Remus and stood up.

“When has anything I’ve ever done been safe? I got through this by knowing I would go back and talk to Ron and Hermione about it! I won’t see them all summer and now I won’t even see them before I leave!” Harry’s hands were balled into little fists and Draco felt the power coursing through him like a penetrating heat in his blood. Little beads of sweat were breaking out on the blond’s forehead as he tried to focus on the angry wizard before him.

“Now Harry.”

“No. I want to go back. I will go back! He stood up in a rush and stomped into the living room. He didn’t even hear the yelp of pain from the kitchen.

“HARRY!” Lupin was standing up ready to follow but Draco was already up and out of the room. Frantically he lunged at Harry and tackled him on the floor.

“Ger-off Malfoy!” Harry panted for breath but before he knew what was going on he was seeing red. Red against creamy ivory skin.

“See, I’m bleeding you stupid git!” Draco voice was pleading with Harry, who ignored the insult and lifted up his own hand to see blood. Although the moment the boys touched the wounds healed. The blood was a reminder.

“I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean for you to…get hurt.” Harry’s stuttered apology was enough for Draco who stood up and strode to the kitchen with Harry at his heels. Bellatrix was waiting for them with towels.

“We should have told you that for the first night you shouldn’t move too far away from each other, and you most certainly won’t be able to floo separately until tomorrow.

“How are we getting home then?” Harry, feeling defeated, asked Bee.

“Tomorrow Ron, Hermione, and Blaise will be bringing your things here on orders from the headmaster. We will spend the day together. Then since they will also have brought there own things they will be use a portkey to get to the platform and you two will floo to Privet Drive.” Bellatrix clapped her hands to signal her finish, “But now I think its best that you both go upstairs to yours and Ron’s room, Harry, and lend Draco some cloths to sleep in for the night. You’ll need to be rested they will be here quite early.”

Harry smiled genuinely and widely as he started to head for the stairs. He turned to beckon to Draco who was still now looking questioningly at Bellatrix.

“How did you convince Blaise to come here?”

“With a little creative thinking my dragon. Now off to bed with you.” Her nose crinkled as she smiled and pointed to the stairs Harry stood on. Leaning forward she kissed Draco’s cheek, “Goodnight my dragon.”

“G’night.” Draco mumbled and turned for the stairs.

The Dawn streamed in and fell across the dark and unruly hair of Harry Potter. He moaned and flipped over, covering his eyes with his hand. It didn’t even occur to him that he had closed the blinds last night before he and Draco went to bed.

“Aww, isn’t he just adorable first thing in the morning?” An unfamiliar and sarcastic drawl similar to Draco’s filled the room. Harry lifted his messy haired head to see the source and was greeted with three figures standing in the doorway, each carrying several bags with a large trunk levitating in front of them. A bushy haired figure he recognized had her wand out and pointed at the window.

“Yeah,” said the figure, failing to notice Harry had woken, “Malfoy’s not half bad when he doesn’t have that ugly sneer plastered on his face.”

Harry’s laugh was cut off by Draco’s muffled voice coming from the bed across from Harry’s.

“Thanks Granger but your not my type anyway.”

“Right, haven’t you heard Hermione?” Ron looked at her in faux shock. “Malfoy prefers blokes!”

“That’s right Weasley, now don’t you get excited. I don’t do poor ginger haired weasels either.”

This time Harry’s laugh was loud enough for the three to turn towards him and ignore the blond whose head was still buried in his pillow.

“Good morning mate, how’d you sleep?”

“Fine.”

“That’s a shock,” Hermione bristled as she glanced at Malfoy who had been greeted by Blaise plopping down on his back, “considering the company.”

“At least he doesn’t snore.” Harry smirked before breaking out in fits of laughter as his roommate grew steadily pinker almost matching his bright red hair color.

“Does ginger headed weasel snore scar head? If I had known it reminded you of that dilapidated place he calls a house I would have snored to make you feel more at home.”

“Shove off Malfoy!” Ron stood glaring at the two Slytherins.

“No Ron! He’s not worth it.” Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron’s waist as she lowered him back down to Harry’s bed.

“Don’t you have any standards Weasley?” This time the speaker was Blaise. “I mean really, even if you’re poorer then a house elf, your still a pure blood. Letting her put her filthy mud blood hands all over you, disgusting.”

Harry threw back his covers before anyone could move, his pajama pants hung low on his hips and his torso was completely bare, showing off his lean seekers build. His wand was at Blaise’s throat in a matter of milliseconds.

“Oh, and you think you and Malfoy are so much better then her. Right?!?” Harry was glaring down his wand into the boys face. “Well guess what, your little blond boyfriend here isn’t anymore pure blood then I am!”

“What?” Blaise looked confused. “Boyfriend? Potter, first of all, lets get one thing straight, I like pussy. Second, Malfoy here is like the poster boy for pure bloods.”

Hermione noticed Draco fidgeting and becoming suddenly interested in the pattern of the quilt that lay over him. He didn’t even sit up at Harry’s insult and she wondered if maybe Harry had found something out about Malfoy last night.

“Not anymore he’s not,” said Harry with a small grin on his face, “isn’t that right Draco?”

Draco lay still, not looking up and with his eyes closed. “Right Malfoy!”

“He’s right.” Draco said softly, sitting up and letting the quilt fall into his lap, his sweat soaked ivory skin glistened in the streaks of daylight that came through the window. His silver eyes darted from one person to the next, scanning the room before resting on Harry. “Last night in order to protect me from the Dark Lord-”

“Voldemort.” Harry cut in.

“Voldemort, Harry had to share his blood with me so that I could have the same protection he does. Half the blood in my body is his and half the blood in his body is mine. And now we are bonded, for life.” The shocked silence that enveloped the room was thick with curiosity but neither Harry nor Draco wanted to offer up any of the answers to the unasked questions.

No one spoke. Just stared at the space between Harry and Draco as if the whole thing was a dream and any minute now they would all walk up and the feast would never have happened and nothing would be different then every other end of the year. But it was not a dream and eventually Draco grew wary of the silence.

“Well if you’re all done gawking at us like goldfish then get out so I can get dressed!” He snatched the black bag from Blaise and shoved his friend hard towards the door. Blaise blinked but nodded and walked out of the room. Hermione walked to the door and stopped when Ron turned back to Harry.

“Are you coming?”

“No, I have to get dressed too.”

“With Malfoy?” Ron stared incredulously, ignoring Hermione tugging at his sleeve.

“Yes, we-”

But Harry was cut off by Malfoy.

“Merlin Weasel, we fucked! I think we can get dressed in the same bloody room.”
Hermione blushed. She wondered if her guesses about Harry’s sexual orientation were right the minute he mentioned the blood bond, she also wondered about the side effects. Now it seemed as if Draco Malfoy had spelled it out for her. Harry was also blushing profusely and glaring at Malfoy.

“What.” Ron was franticly looking from Harry to Draco trying to take in what Draco had said. Harry made to talk to Ron but Hermione was one step ahead of him. She pulled a one very stunned Weasley out of the bedroom and closed the door with a flick of her wand. Meanwhile Draco was doubled over in laughter.

“Did you see the look on Weasley’s face?” Harry turned from Draco but couldn’t help the smile that began to form on his lips.

Harry decided he would let Malfoy’s comment slide since he was going to be living with Draco all summer. Not to mention Ron would have found out anyways, at least now Draco had saved Harry from doing the actual deed of telling Ron he liked boys. Even if the first boy he even kissed was that slimy, vain, curiously attractive, flaxen haired, silver eyed Slytherin git.

Harry’s feelings on the subject were entirely too muddled to worry about at the moment, so he focused on ignoring Draco’s snickering and putting on his clothes. He bent down into his trunk to find a pair of briefs and when he glanced back to see why Draco had stopped laughing he was greeted with Draco’s gaze resting fixedly on his ass. Seeing his opportunity he wiggled a little bit and bent down further to bury his head in his trunk.

His reward: an audible gasp from his blond nemesis.

“S’there something on my pants Malfoy?” Harry was determined to catch Draco off guard. Harry stood up and faced Draco, smirking at the blonds slightly parted lips as Draco anxiously licked them.

“What are you on about Potter?” Malfoy’s sneer returned just as soon as it had gone. Harry wasn’t about to be coerced into another argument just yet, he smiled at Malfoy’s glare.

“Oh, just enjoying the view then are you?” He turned away from Draco and let his hands glide down his sun kissed sides and rest on the waist band of his pajama pants before sliding them slowly down to the floor. Then carefully stepping out of the crumpled fabric he picked up a pair of gray briefs and slipped them on before turning back to the blond. Draco was rummaging through his knapsack pulling out item after item and trying to look as though he hadn’t been watching Harry. The noticeable bulge in his pajama bottoms and the slight twinge of flush on his face and neck gave him away though. He straightened up with a pair of cargo pants in one hand and a black wife beater in the other and stared at Harry, who had been watching him.

“Do you plan on going to your Aunt and Uncles in that Potter?”

“No, I don’t think my Uncle Vernon would like you drooling all over his furniture.”

Draco smirked.

“Probably not, but then again, that wouldn’t be a problem since Malfoy’s don’t drool. We leave the groveling to lesser wizards.”

With that he untied the string at the waist band of his own pants and let hem drop to the floor. Harry, who hadn’t expected this, watched as the semi-hard blond sauntered back to his bed and turned his back on the now very unexpectedly warm ebony haired youth.

Draco was annoyed that Harry would flaunt himself when he knew that the bond was still wreaking havoc on their emotions, so he decided he would play the game.

He dropped the shirt he planned on wearing on to the bed and without putting on briefs or boxers he slipped his feet into the pants. Harry watched as the light khaki material slid up Draco’s thighs and over the downy fine blond hairs and then fit themselves tightly on his round ass and fall snuggly low on his hips. Draco’s back muscles shifted as he stretched his arms over his head and the tank top draped over his torso. Harry’s mouth was watering at the sight of the black wife beater against the pale creamy skin and he was red with anger at the sly Slytherin.

Draco, having had his revenge, grinned widely and arched a brow at his salivating arch rival before slipping on a pair of muggle sneakers, shaking his head softly to ruffle his hair and moving into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Harry rushed to finish dressing, taking particular care choosing a plain white v-neck t-shirt that fit him just right and a pair of jeans that, although they weren’t as tight as Draco cargo’s, framed his ass perfectly and made the muscles on his legs stand out. They were torn on both knees and the right back calf and front right thigh. They were very fashionable in muggle circles and he was sure they would catch Draco’s attention. Even though he wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to catch Draco’s attention.

Draco walked down the stairs to the Kitchen. When he entered all eyes were on him. Building himself up, he sauntered over to Bellatrix and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down. Hermione was a blushing shade of crimson and Ron looked steadily at the floor, Blaise however stared openly at Draco.

“So my Slytherin dragon how was the boy-who-lived?”

“It was a side effect of the bonding. Even Granger would have been great.”

If Hermione could have been any redder she would have been right then. Ron flushed and sat up.

“Could we please not talk about it?”

Blaise batted his eyes innocently at Ron.

“But Ron, I’m only curious about one thing.” Turning to Draco he assumed a serious expression, “Who was on top?”

Harry followed the yelling all the way down the stairs, past the portrait of Mrs. Black and into the kitchen, what he found there shocked him. Ron dove across the table and landed squarely on Blaise’s chest with a growl. Harry may have been in shock but regained his composure enough to dart towards the two rolling around on the floor. Before he reached them however they were thrown apart from a well aimed charm from Remus.

“Enough!” he shouted at the two of them, now on the floor in opposite corners of the room.

Everyone watched as he glared between the two boys. No one realizing really what had happened. No one except Blaise and Ron, who both knew the little remark he had mouthed at Ron from across the table. Ron looked furiously at Blaise who sat calmly on the floor.

“What’s going on here?” Harry said sternly looking almost as mad as Lupin.

“He-He said. Harry he,” Ron pointed angrily at Blaise, “keeps calling ‘Mione a mud blood.”

“I said no such thing!”

“You mouthed it to me you stupid prat, it’s just as bad!”

Lupin was fuming and shaking with rage but before he could reprimand Blaise, Bellatrix stood up. She was in a pair of light blue jeans and a tight fitting gray shirt. She reached out and helped Blaise off of the ground and then walked over to Ron and did the same. Everyone was captivated with her movement because it seemed so strange. Then she looked from Remus to Ron and then to Hermione before speaking.

“Forgive him. I was a Slytherin once too and believe me when I say he doesn’t know any better.” Then she turned her gaze back on Blaise. “Ignorance is no excuse Blaise Zambini. Apologize to Hermione because not only is she not a pure blood but because she is the brightest witch of her age I have ever seen and if I ever hear you say that or hear that you said that again I will make sure it’s the last thing that comes out of your mouth.”

Blaise blinked and opened and closed his mouth several times before making eye contact with Hermione and apologizing. She accepted it with a nod and everyone breathed a little easier when they sat down. After eating a big breakfast of biscuits, bacon, eggs and hash browns the very full witches and wizards leaned back and surprisingly just enjoyed each others company.

Miraculously Ron and Blaise didn’t argue once, unless you count their disagreement on the new chaser for the Chudley Cannons. Draco even got into the argument, on Ron’s side no less, saying that the new chaser was bollocks. Harry smiled at his dysfunctional table mates and wondered if maybe he had witnessed the beginning of something new, a new friendship and new kinship. If maybe, just maybe he had witnessed the most historic reunification in European history since Germany, the reunification of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Just then there was a loud pop and standing before the bickering table stood professor Dumbledore smiling down at them.

“I take it all has gone quite well?” he said looking at them over his half moon spectacles, eyes twinkling and his eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Why Dumbledore, of course everything went just fine. I rather think we should be getting ready to go soon but other then that the bonding went without a hitch and the boys things arrived bright and early this morning.” Harry thought Bellatrix was reminding him more and more of Mrs. Weasley every time she spoke.

“Good. Well I came to make sure everything was in order.” He looked around the table and grinned again. “And how are my students doing?”

“Quite well.” Hermione piped in.

“Well, Ms. Granger I believe that it was only a matter of time before we put those silly little feuds behind us.” He looked purposefully at Harry and Draco. “Now I expect you will be very busy packing and whatnot so I will not keep you. I just wanted to make sure everyone knew what was happening. The floo system is being watched but with a secure connection I believe Harry and Draco will be able to return to Harry’s Aunt and Uncles between 1 o’clock and 2. The three of you,” he motioned at Ron, Hermione and Blaise, “will use a port key to get to platform 9 ¾. I must stress that the three of you will then return here. You are only going to the platform in order to keep up appearances. The Weasley’s will be there to pick you up. Blaise your mother and father have decided it would be best for you to stay here because if your involvement with young Messer’s Potter and Malfoy gets out, you could be in grave danger.”

Blaise nodded his head and shared a sympathetic glance with Hermione and Ron, who both knew what it was like to be in danger.

“So know that everything is rightly settled I should get back to Hogwarts. I have students to Shepard and the train is leaving momentarily. I’ll see you all quite soon I expect. Harry, Draco, we’ll be in touch.” Then with a loud pop he was gone as soon as he appeared.

“Alright you heard the man, let’s get ready to go. Harry, Draco are you all packed?” They both nodded fervently at Lupin who stood up and shooed them out of the kitchen. “Well go on, get your things, Blaise, Hermione, Ron go upstairs and wait by the port key, it’s almost 1:30 and we have to get Draco and Harry out of here.”

Within minutes Harry was standing in front of the fireplace with Lupin, Bellatrix and Draco starring down the barrel of a whole summer spent only with the Dursley’s and Draco for company. He was strangely nervous while wondering what life with Draco would be like. Before he knew it Bellatrix and Remus engulfed him in a big hug and pushed him toward the fireplace.

“Number 4 Privet Drive!” Harry was immediately consumed with warmth as he moved from fireplace to fireplace. He landed with a thump and rolled into the living room of his Aunt and Uncles place covered in soot. He only had a second to look over his would-be family before Draco rolled in beside him. The Dursley’s all watched with bated breath. Then without warning Uncle Vernon began to change colors.

“Get to your room boy and take that other abomination with you!”

Harry stood hurriedly and grabbed the bag he dropped before moving for the stairs. He was already on the first step when he realized Draco hadn’t moved. Harry felt a scorching heat fill his body and his palms ached as they began to bleed slightly.

“Oh, no” he said quietly as he turned on his heel to look back into the living room. Draco was now standing and looking defiantly at Harry’s Uncle Vernon who was equally glaring back at the blond.

“Don’t you ever call Harry or me an abomination again you FILTHY MUD-BLOOD MUGGLE!” Harry beamed with pride. As Draco stalked towards the stairs Harry’s blood began to cool. He smiled at Draco who begrudgingly smirked back.

“So, do we get to share a bed Potter? I hope yours is big enough to accommodate both of us.” Draco spoke as he walked by and began to ascend the stairs. “I always sleep on the left, that won’t be a problem will it Potter?” he said as Harry watched him round the corner.

Harry thought, as he bounded up the stairs after the Slytherin, that maybe a summer with Draco wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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