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thepretender501) wrote2010-11-16 03:59 pm
Drabble: Between Thinking and Breathing
Pairing(s)/Characters: Rabastan/Rodolphus
Rating: light PG-13
Word Count: ~450
Warnings: incest, slash, not beta'd.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money.
Prompt: Rodolphus' wedding (or the night before)
Author's Notes: written for
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deatheatercest's End of Year Drabble-a-thon.
Rabastan has trouble sleeping. Always has. He can’t remember the last time he’s slept properly and it’s no different the night before his brother’s wedding. The entire house is quiet. So quiet he can hear the floorboards groaning beneath his feet, he can hear his own conscience. It’s shouting at him, begging him to do something. He slips into his brother’s room. The path is familiar; he doesn’t even need wand light to make it to the bed.
“Rodolphus.” There is no movement, Rodolphus is fast asleep, one hand cradling his head, his lips slightly parted, with a bit of dribble trickling down his cheek. Rabastan can’t help himself, he bends down, catching his hair in his hand before pressing his lips against his brother’s.
"Bella?" He feels Rodolphus stiffen.
Rabastan’s stomach turns. No, not her. He doesn’t say it but he wants to. He’s not sure when it became about her, but he resents it. Resents her. Since her, Rabastan doesn’t exist to Rodolphus anymore.
Carefully, he slinks into the bed, one knee followed by the other, so that he straddles Rodolphus’ lap. He bends down again this time letting his hair fall and his tongue wander.
Rodolphus grunts in response, arching upwards and Rabastan thinks-- he has to know. Rodolphus has to know that this is Rabastan’s kiss, not Bella’s. He has to. Maybe he wants to pretend. Perhaps that’s why he keeps his eyes shut despite feeling Rabastan’s chest, his body, his cock. Rodolphus shifts upright, with Rabastan in his lap. The kiss continues, painful and violent, the only way they know how. Rodolphus’ fists squeezing, tugging, and bruising everything.
When he can no longer breathe Rabastan pulls away. “Rodolphus,” he says again. He’s panting; his lips are swollen, burning, as if they’ve been pressed against ice.
“I knew.” Rodolphus’ eyes slowly drift open and scan Rabastan’s face. “I knew it was you. My bride is next door.”
“I know, let her listen,” Rabastan leans forward but Rodolphus recoils. A sharp pain jabs at Rabastan’s chest.
“We can’t…”
Something sour rises in Rabastan’s throat. He tries to swallow it back down but can’t. “Fuck! I don’t want you to marry her…” he chokes.
It’s the wrong thing to say, childish and silly. A heavy silence follows his words and somewhere in that silence Rabastan realizes it’s time to go. After all what does he expect? Rodolphus sure as hell can’t marry him.
He leaves his brother’s bedroom without another word and returns to his own. There he sits awake, listening to the screams of his conscience, pressing his fingertips into the bruises, and trying to forget. He’s always had trouble sleeping…alone.
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And Happy Birthday!
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