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Glass by marinahill
Chapter 1 : Glass
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 40


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AN: Well, here's my first attempt at slash. Thanks so much to Rachel for all her help getting this chapter anywhere near coherent.



Glass

i.

There is much to be admired in a face chiselled from diamonds. Her eyes cut glass, her jaw is as angular as the stone in her ring. Daphne traces the hard line with a light finger as she weaves a leg in between those of her friend. A rough kiss is exchanged before head meets shoulder. Their silence is never awkward.

They are friends more than they are lovers but she aches for the chase. One word will not do where sentences are left unspoken; one glance is not enough where there are touches and kisses and a feast of lust for hungry hands. She wants to devour every part of her.

Limits are for those who fear emotion. Their bond is transparent, their minds open to one another. Their racing hearts know no bounds; they reject nothing when they can have it all. As their hands entwine in a heated moment, their friendship is knotted closer. They are tangled.

ii.

There is much to be admired in a face drenched in anger. Pinched cheeks are glowing with reproach as the mistress watches her lover dab perfume onto delicate collarbones.

“Stay,” she hisses across the cold silence.

“I have to go.”

Daphne brushes damp hair from her hot skin. “You told me you would spend the evening with me.”

Her lover shrugs indifferently. “I have done. Now I must go to Blaise.”

Legs are swung from tangled sheets. “Fuck Blaise.”

A twisted smile forms on red lips. “Maybe I will.”

“Don’t be cruel.” There is a bitter flash in her eyes as she takes the perfume from Pansy’s hand and replaces it on the dresser. It takes one gentle tug to pull Pansy to her, their lips meeting furiously. “Stay with me,” Daphne repeats. She sighs impatiently as Pansy kisses her mouth, her jaw, her neck.

“You know I can’t.” Her perfume hangs heavily in the air and it suffocates Daphne. She struggles to breathe, pushing Pansy away to still her beating heart. She is no longer in control; Pansy has grasped her wrists, pulling her towards her again. “Come now, Daphne. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”

“So I just wait here whilst you run to him?” Her hands are released and she steps back, eyeing her lover with a look of deep disdain. Her face slowly freezes, emotions cowering behind a practiced mask of indifference. “I am not at your disposal, Parkinson.”

“Neither am I at yours.”

Their eyes meet across the room and once again they are drawn to each other, dark passion a gravitational force between them. Daphne roughly takes Pansy in her arms and leaves a brutal kiss on her dried lips.

“Go, then,” she whispers harshly into her ear.

The words climb into their thoughts from the roots up and neither can stop the infestation. They will not forget.

iii.

There is much to be admired in a face raw with jealousy. Her eyes are narrowed and her cheeks are hot as she observes the happy couple. His arm is looped around her waist territorially, as though he can feel the shards of glass impaled in his back. Envy and loathing tremble inside of her as they fight for dominance but she cannot stop staring. If she looks away she will cease to feel alive; she needs to rush to stop her from dissolving into irrelevance. She will claim what is hers.

They will wed in spring. She will be a statue of stone, a cold reminder of everything they are together, everything they have been and everything they can never be. The click of her heels will echo in Pansy’s ears for all eternity because she will never let go. She will not be forgotten.

She reaches their side, soft fingers delicately brushing the other woman’s. He does not notice. Excuses are made with gentle lips pressed on cheeks and she takes her leave, the echoes of clicking heels resounding in her wake. They linger.

iv.

There is much to be admired in a face warped with vicious determination. Shaking hands bash on cold wood before the door is pulled open. He is slack with sleep and his face does not register shock until after she has slowly pushed her way into his house.

She caresses his face as he watches her warily, fear lining the curve of his soft mouth. “Time to wake up, Blaise.”

He pushes her hand away with an unexpected desperation. “What are you doing here?”

Her laugh his cold and low, her eyes glassy. A merciless grin falls from her lips. “I have to have her.”

“I don’t understand.”

She backs him into a wall, hands pressing on his shoulders gently. He pushes her away again. “She will never be yours,” she taunts, backing away from him. Her hands scramble behind her for something to hold on to, knocking a glass jug to the flagstone floor.

She scoops the shards into her pale palms, glancing at his dark frown as she straightens up.

Looks are exchanged, from resentment to understanding and back again. The fear is gone, her one last grasp on reality. “And you think you could have her?”

Her mouth twists into a wry smile. “I already do. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Blood is pumping, hearts are racing and thoughts whizz through her mind like restless insects. All she has is secrecy and she has lost it to jealousy.

Blaise closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall, his face shrouded in darkness. “She agreed to marry me.”

She senses a change in his demeanour; he is no longer intimidated by her. His eyes meet hers unflinchingly. The loathing inside her stirs once more and she steps towards him, the shards of glass clasped in her hand.

“If I cannot have her, neither shall you.”

There is much to be admired in a face mirrored in shards of glass.
 




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