makes jack a dull boy

Cripes, work is running me ragged. No time for all the writing I want to get done. At least I managed this:

---

Because It Is Bitter

He took the boy's stretched, bony wrist, and with his thumb, he felt his pulse. Felt their pulses together for a moment: anxious adolescent staccato, and his own rhythm-- thready now, but not faltering. Never faltering.

The bonfire vomited orange sparks, then quieted. Night air. Sweat.

He tightened his grip until he couldn't feel either pulse anymore. Thin blue veins crushed under his thumb. He pulled the boy's arm straight-- harder than he'd meant to, and living fingers brushed against his robes. The boy sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth.

Clean white forearm, like a blank page. He touched his forefinger to the boy's skin-- then dug in deeper, drawing his mark. Blood welled up. Slowly-- like ink.

He looked into the boy's face. Young black eyes wide and gleaming, thin lips slightly parted. Unflinching. Desperate. Desirous.

"Am I hurting you?" Voldemort asked softly.

Staring like a predator, Snape whispered his answer: "No."


end.

---

Short-shorts are tough for me, but probably good for me too. From what folks have said, it sounds like I'm at my best when I'm concise. I'm impressed with people who can get something of substance said in such a tiny space (I'm looking in your direction, bardsmaid :> ).

makes jack a dull boy

Cripes, work is running me ragged. No time for all the writing I want to get done. At least I managed this:

---

Because It Is Bitter

He took the boy's stretched, bony wrist, and with his thumb, he felt his pulse. Felt their pulses together for a moment: anxious adolescent staccato, and his own rhythm-- thready now, but not faltering. Never faltering.

The bonfire vomited orange sparks, then quieted. Night air. Sweat.

He tightened his grip until he couldn't feel either pulse anymore. Thin blue veins crushed under his thumb. He pulled the boy's arm straight-- harder than he'd meant to, and living fingers brushed against his robes. The boy sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth.

Clean white forearm, like a blank page. He touched his forefinger to the boy's skin-- then dug in deeper, drawing his mark. Blood welled up. Slowly-- like ink.

He looked into the boy's face. Young black eyes wide and gleaming, thin lips slightly parted. Unflinching. Desperate. Desirous.

"Am I hurting you?" Voldemort asked softly.

Staring like a predator, Snape whispered his answer: "No."


end.

---

Short-shorts are tough for me, but probably good for me too. From what folks have said, it sounds like I'm at my best when I'm concise. I'm impressed with people who can get something of substance said in such a tiny space (I'm looking in your direction, bardsmaid :> ).