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Eye of the Beholder Blaise had always held a certain disdain for perfection. It was the little flaws in things, in people, that made life interesting. Perfect marks in school certainly didn’t make one popular; that Granger girl was a perfect example of that. That’s why he only did well enough in his studies to be considered a good student, but not well enough to alienate the “right people”. Some might argue that he had a perfect face, but he would deny it vehemently. When he looked in the mirror he didn’t see perfection; not with that little black birthmark settled quite nicely by his mouth. It pleased him to no end knowing others loved that small imperfection almost as much as he did. He couldn’t count the number of times it had been worshipped with lips and tongue. Blaise knew he wasn’t the only one who disliked perfection, though. Malfoy, the poor boy, suffered from it everyday. His perfect looks alone garnered him the kind of popularity Blaise himself could only dream of. But his cold, flat gaze revealed his discontent. So when the blond Slytherin approached him and demanded—Malfoys never asked for anything—that he make him less perfect...Well, what could Blaise do but take pity on him? He never imagined he would find so much satisfaction in marking all that flawless ivory skin—fingers squeezing hips with a vice-like grip, teeth sinking into a shoulder blade—leaving behind bold purple bruises and vibrant red welts on the pale velvet canvas of the body beneath him. And when he felt himself close to coming, he surveyed his work, taking fierce pleasure in knowing he’d destroyed Malfoy’s perfection and had instead made it into something beautiful. |