Title: Don't Speak

Author: mintapotter

A/N: UPDATE DEC 2010: I wanted to do a follow-up to this piece, and meant it to be original fiction. It's here, and complete! In Our Blood is in the same vein as Don't Speak and is available at this is our blood dot tumblr dot com. Thank you!

Title The End, from song by My Chemical Romance.

The title's short, sweet and to the point.

For the last time, enjoy.

Chapter 37 - The End.

"No Draco."

Harry speaks softly into the shell of my ear, his words so soft the air barely parts around them, but he lets me hear them now.

"We won't be any good, love. We'll be grand."

To sleep with another person, just sleep and nothing else, is a luxury.

It's the one thing that'll soothe a nightmare away. It will let you warm your feet on it, let you sniff its hair and stroke its skin. Sometimes it will hold you so close that its ribs feel sharp when they cut into your back, but you don't care.

You can feel its heartbeats.

You can listen to it breathe. It's harmless. It trusts you in sleep, if nowhere else.

It's safe because you're there and it knows that you love it. Even deeper than it suspects that you hate it, it knows that it's love. Somewhere deeper.

Not that Draco is an it or anything. An object. A pretty thing.

He is most definitely a man; warm and breathing and alive and wonderful.

Asleep, that is.

And he has the most amazingly unnatural beauty and stillness in his sleep, and he doesn't wake when you do. He's helpless and doesn't mind. You watching.

Waking should be a pleasant thing; something slow and brought on by a pleasant smell or the feel of sun on your face. The only problem with sleeping in a dungeon is that the kitchens are nowhere near and there aren't any fucking windows. No birds chirping, no dew to be seen on the grass. There's moss though, and fungus. And did I forget to mention the dripping, the constant dripping on the stones? Or how the air chills you, no matter what you are wearing?

And pain? Oh, pain. How could I forget.

That'll wake you in a hurry and rip and tear and shred apart anything happy you may have felt while you were sleeping because pain doesn't give a shit how nice you slept. How comfortable you are.


Pain was what woke me as my mouth began to tingle again with the tendrils of pain unfurling from the tears in my gums and tongue. It, Draco, rolled over with his eyes only half open and watched as I left the bed searching for the pain potion he had given me the night before; he smiled lazily before pulling the blankets about him higher. Only a minute before I was drinking him in, watching him breathe, tracing his jaw and collarbone with my fingertip.

He didn't know that we had just shared 'a moment' though. He woke up and smiled because he knew what I wanted and he was choosing whether or not I'd get it. Awake, there was nothing soft or soothing about him.


"Sleep well?" he murmured; I grunted in response. My tongue was too busy pushing and pulling the thread of flesh still hanging from the roof of my mouth, slowly ripping it loose. Blood dripped from the raw spot and it was then that the pain started to come back into focus and I really wanted to find the potion.

My fingers probed through all of Draco's immaculately kept drawers and cupboards, into the hidden shelves behind his bookcase and even underneath his bedside table. Nothing. Not a vial, a bottle, a drop of a fucking potion to be found.

"Looking for something?" Draco whispered, turning to face me and smiling again, like he was holding the key to a dirty secret. His eyes always betrayed the fact that he loved mocking me. Why couldn't he just tell me? Why did he always have to wake up and say something?

I stared back but said nothing, not wanting to feed his ego because yes, he had the upper hand. It was starting to seem as though Draco always had something that I wanted, and he always played a game before giving it to me.

The tease.

"I've got more potion Harry, stop fretting and lie back down. I'll fetch it for you."

His words were soft now and didn't hold the threat of lies; he actually meant it for once. He didn't even watch me climb back into the bed, and he didn't laugh when I winced and let my face contort into the grim lines that only a stinging agony could cause.

Loving Draco hurt, god knew, but there was no reason why it should hurt so fucking much.

"You could just swig it from the bottle," his voice broke the silence, his delicate hand holding aloft the bottle of acid green liquid that I had been searching for, having hidden it behind his dresser, "-or you can let me give it to you, and in my opinion the second method is much more pleasurable and much more effective."

And then he smiled and tossed me the bottle but his smile wasn't coy. Or evil or wrought with mal-intent. He was just teasing. Laughing even? Just to see me, talk with me, be with me? Did Draco ever even do happy? Could he feel it without hurting someone else first?

I can hope that sometimes, things could be like this. Light and airy and-

Pain. Deal with pain first, think fucking happy thoughts later.

I tossed the bottle and whispered back "I'd prefer the second method I think. And as quickly as possible, if you don't mind."

And Draco wasted no time in swigging it back, straddling me again and pushing it between his lips and through my teeth. We weren't famed for our subtlety, that's for damn sure. But then again, when your mouth is numb, what exactly would be the point of nibbling on a lip, or a soft touch?

I giggled at the thought and Draco drew back, a line furrowing his brow. Confusion was a look he wore astonishingly well.

"What?" he hissed.

"It's nofing…" I murmured, my words muted. His lips broke into a wide, sloppy grin as the potion worked its magic and our mouths became sufficiently numb to slur our words.

"It's only morning an' I soun' drunk…" I continued with the slurred speech because no matter how he tried, Draco couldn't stop himself smiling. His nose twitched with childish laughter but he wouldn't speak a word; not if it meant that he sounded drunk of all things.

"…Let's stay in then." He spoke laboriously but his words didn't turn out the half-muddled way mine did. His expression had changed from gleeful to serious as he concentrated on speaking, but it was more than just that. The words meant more than we were just going to stay in because we sounded silly. It was meant in that this was our time to be alone.

To be alone together.

You know what I'm talking about.

That feeling.

The one where you're sitting in class and you turn around just at the right moment and stare at someone…who's already staring back? It's that sixth sense, that prickling on the back of your neck or the rising of tiny hairs on your arms.

You know what I'm talking about.

And Harry gives it to me all the time.

When the time is right and I have nowhere to be, I love to simply wallow in the warmth of bed sheets. Laziness is what wealth and time can buy. Leisure. I can take hours to get out of bed if you'll let me.

And Harry confuses this slow waking with sleep. So he watches. He mutters words so soft that even when his lips are at my ears, I can't hear them.

He's saying 'I love you'. I just know it. I can feel it because those sounds make me tingle with something different, something magic. That giddy feeling you can't really name.

Love maybe. Something like that, I suppose.

And he strokes the parts he likes best; my bones. The jut of my hipbone, the curve of my wrist. He kisses my collarbone and traces my jaw with an ultimate sort of reverence.

If anyone knew about how beautiful that can make you feel, they would cry and beg to have someone worship them like this. Worship is hands down the best feeling a person can have. To have someone else completely yours. They'll do anything to keep you. Have you.

They won't share you with anyone. They own you because they want and need and love you that much.

Harry breathes me in and sighs.

His fingertips tap out the rhythm of my heartbeats on the bedspread.

All while he thinks I'm asleep.

And then I wake up. Yawn. Stretch. And he stops. He pulls away and leaves the bed, searching for something. He thinks that I don't know. He won't tell.

Go on. Blame me for being selfish. I don't want him to stop because he knows that I'm lucid enough to remember later. I want to hurt him because he won't love me while I'm awake.

And then I give up and give in; I give him what he wants. Deliverance from pain; temporary. He speaks with a slur because it makes me laugh and he loves my laugh. My smile. All the lips and teeth and saliva of it.

When I suggest that we stay in he loves a lot more of me than just the hole in my face that is my mouth. His fingers start tracing again, his slurred speech leaves him. He whispers words I can't understand but that I pretend to be 'I love you's. I wish he'd just tell me.

Say it aloud. Proper and loud and for everyone to hear; I'm loved. Someone wants me.

But he doesn't. He rolls me over and lies so, so, so close that every bit of me is warmed by him. Every inch of skin that he reveals by pulling at my shirt or yanking at my trousers is breathed upon, kissed, traced with a reverence.

"Come up here." I persist, pulling his lips up to where they were meant to be; on mine. My words are no longer slurred; we didn't drink enough potion and it's wearing off fast. He winces at every probing of my tongue but he won't stop because he loves every fucking minute of it. I purposely rub at the roof of his mouth to start it bleeding and he whimpers; his nails dig into my back ruthlessly.

"Tell me you love me." I command and he pulls away, his eyes blinking away tears mixed with both anger and pain.

"I can't when you're making me bleed Draco." He protests feebly, his hands never leaving my waist. He can feel me breathe. He's helpless while touching me and he knows it. He doesn't mean that he won't say it. He will.

Give me five minutes and he'll say anything I want him to.

"You love me no matter what I do, and you know it. You adore me. Now say it."

Naked, I hold the power. Harry can't stop looking, and I won't stop touching him until he gives me what I want. I know what he wants; a fuck and some more potion.

How dreadfully romantic.

A slow shift is made until he's the one lying on the bed and I'm straddling him on top, my nails scratching pink lines over the soft skin stretched thin over his ribs. Rebel tears leak down the sides of his face and blur into the ink of his hair; he's desperate.

So am I, simply for different things.

"Say it."

He shakes his head; more tears.

Like I care.

My nails scratch extra hard when I flip open the buttons to his shirt; he writhes and says not a word.

"Say it."

"NO." he forces the hiss out through stained teeth and bloodied mouth.

I am not well pleased. I bite his hipbone after removing his trousers because lessons need to be learnt. Sure he cries out on the outside but on the inside he loves it.

Loves me.

"Say it or I'll fuck your mouth up a lot worse than it already is. I've got a few things that could do the job quite nicely."

"It hurts-"

"That's what razors are for Harry and maybe this'll serve you to remember that and never, ever, try and use one on yourself again."



He blinks to see more clearly but the shiny peaks of his eyelashes probably make it near impossible. More tears drip as he mutters "Fuck you."

I love you. How hard is it to say?

"Fuck. You."

Love you.

Close enough.

"There we are darling." I murmur, lapping at the tears following neat little lines over the hollows of his face. I lick at the spot of blood on his lower lip and he's mine.

Harry loves me enough while I'm sleeping; maybe he'll prefer me even better when I'm dead.

Oh well.

Life's for living. Fucking. Why not? While you're awake you might as well hurt everything you can. There's only so much time in a day to do it.

"You're such a bastard." He whispers, letting me kiss him as my hands work downwards on his long neglected cock. I can kiss and kiss and kiss, just without any tongue. Which lessens the fun by at least half. But making him grunt and moan little by little with nothing more than a twist of my hand or the slide of my palm makes up for the loss.


"I know."

"You deserve nothing more," he accentuates the threat in his tone by pushing me from him with force unknown, not caring for or taking any notice of the loud smacking sound of my skull on the footboard.

"-than pain, you know that? You're never once kind Draco, all I wanted was some-"


We stare into each others eyes only a moment before Harry smiles a little, breaking it off.

"Some people never get what they want, Draco. If you're making me wait for the potion, I'll make you wait too. Let's see who's more impatient, shall we?"

Draco has no patience.

Oh, how he'll pretend to though, to win a point.

My mouth is ripped to shreds; pieces of my gums are working there own way loose every time I speak. Does it even matter how much blood I've swallowed? Does it look like I care?

No. If I've endured pain before, pain worse than this, than I can do it again..

But Draco? It hurts Draco so much more to have me refuse to tell him I love than to have me fuck him.

So he lets me. To prove a point, I suppose.

And that's a very, very, bad idea when I am bleeding pissed.

Every time I push he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out something. Stop is probably at the top of his list of words to say, followed closely by you bastard and fuck, that hurts.

But as I said before, he's trying to prove a point. Like he can wait this out longer than I can.


His sweating skin glides smoothly under my palms and rips beautifully when I scratch it off. I bite at my favorite place on his collarbone; I pinch the skin of his jaw with my teeth and yank at the stands of hair on his head hard enough to pull a couple loose.

We're so wrapped up in hurting each other, withholding what the other wants that neither of us realize that this too can feel good. Better than good even, divine. Draco may be crying but we both know that somewhere, deep down, this is ecstacy.

My tongue is swollen past the point where breathing through my mouth is difficult, but I'm so close.







I come and give in to urgency; I kiss Draco with whatever of a mouth I have left. At this point it's no more than a bloody opening in my body, filled with jagged shards of bones and teeth pushing their own way through the surface.

Draco doesn't mind the blood; in fact I think that he likes it. He's the kind of person who sucks on a paper cut to get every last drop anyway. That my blood is any different than his makes no difference to him. We're just extensions of each other now really; rip one of us off and the other can no longer surivive. Mutual parasitism.

Neither of us has won yet.

"Please?" he begs so pathetically that in a stupid, post orgasm delirium, I nearly give up. Give in.

I love you.




so simple.

But no.

I shake my head and hold his eyes; my own hand traveling sluggishly down his battered body to show him that I love him. Why does he want to hear it? Why can't touch be enough?

I can make him come. I can watch him writhe and sweat and cry out and then I can actually focus in on his eyes and watch him really cry. He's sobbing. He curls up and into me, a single fingertip resting on my lip.

"Please? What did I do?" he whispers, choking on some words and forcing others out.

I stay silent and watch.

He pulls away little by little and crawls to find that bottle again, the one thing I wanted. He's at the end of his rope. He uncorks it and brings it back up to my lips, the soothing cold of the glass just a prelude to the beautiful void that is delivered by the potion just inside.

His hands are shaking.

Ha ha. Joke's on you. This is all still a game and I win.

You lose.

"I'm sorry." I mutter. His eyes widen with surprise but his head shakes back and forth on his skinny neck.

"I…don't believe you. You're not sorry."

"I'm not sorry. I love you."

He looks up and sobs all the harder, the whites of his grey eyes red by now. Every bloodied scratch, every purpling bruise, every shake of his frame stands out.

I can see his heartbeats jumping through his skin. I can hear him labor to


"I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. Love you. I do."

He covers his ears with trembling hands. My words are trembling too.

"Love you, really I do. Truly. Listen to me. Look? See?"

I smile and I know that it's nothing pretty. I owe him a lot more than a sloppy, bloodied smile through numbed lips. I owe him a lot more than apologies.

I owe him this.

"I love you."

My hands reach out and here we are at the very beginning. On sheets stained with blood turning black, shivering and shaking, hungry, bruised and beaten. What a mess.

He gasps when I touch him and leans in.

"I love you."

His eyes close mercifully when I drape our blanket over us, holding him in just a hug. I kiss his hair and breathe in that scent. The salt of tears and sweat. Something sweet. Something soft.

Through his ribs I can touch his heart.

"I know." He murmurs more into my neck than to my face, but that's alright.

"We're going to miss a lot more classes. We need to. I think that we probably already are."

"I know."

"And if we skip enough, and you just let me be here with you, we'll be here all summer. We have to retake everything to graduate."

"I know."

"And I'll love you, I swear. I'll be good if you are."

"Than we won't be any good at all, will we?"

His whispers are almost inaudible, but not quite. Something wet, a tear, slides from his cheek down my back and my whole body shivers with something different. Excitement maybe. Perhaps the joy of having something to look forward to?


"No Draco."

Harry speaks softly into the shell of my ear, his words so soft the air barely parts around them, but he lets me hear them now.

"We won't be any good, love. We'll be grand."

A/N : At first this was just another chapter that I couldn't figure out how to write, then just something I had to get over and done with after homework and school and music and life. And then the ending of the chapter became the end, and I'm so HAPPY to have this story out there for you guys, and at the same time I'm sad to see it go. Perhaps in the future I'll continue, but perhaps not...

So thank you. ALL of you. That's everyone who's reviewed before this point, and everyone who'll read and review after, because every single one of those little notes you leave me make me smile.

Thanks. For making this story and all my stories a joy to write.

Keep reviewing, reading, writing and dreaming.