My Annoying Little Git
I own no one. Standard disclaimers apply. There is slash in this.
People see me as nothing more than a mindless goon. They say things in front of me, and assume that I'm too daft to comprehend. I am not even an individual to them. I have no personality. I lack everything but the most primitive of emotions. My only purpose is to be large and intimidating.
My partner in goonism understands, but not completely. He doesn't fancy the person we're supposed to protect. He doesn't find himself entranced by the delicate beauty that is Draco Malfoy. He prefers the tits of Millicent Bulstrode, at least that is what I've surmised from his many off-color comments about her.
Sure, we both love the little bugger but I can't seem to get the annoying little git out of my mind. I catch myself staring at his slender form, whenever he changes. I'm glad he hasn't noticed yet.
I admit that he can be a nuisance. If he had learned to keep his mouth shut then he wouldn't need his pair of large, burly goons. I am flanking him as usual. He is speaking but I find myself distracted by his fine arse.
"Goyle, are you listening to me?" he asks, looking up at me and scowling. The expression is far too cute to intimidate me. I am tempted to touch his smooth, pale cheek but I hold back.
"Huh?" I respond stupidly. No wonder people assume that I have the intelligence of plankton. Draco glares at me, as if he was saying anything of significance. He usually rants about Potter, or Weasley, or the Mudblood Granger.
"He was staring at your arse!" my partner in goonism pipes in. I punch him in the arm. My trollish face starts to turn red in anger and embarrassment. Or perhaps, I am merely blushing over what Vincent Crabbe has revealed. Draco continues to glare up at me.
"Is that true?" he asks. I gulp before nodding. I can't speak. I feel an odd lump in my throat. He looks thoughtful for a second. There is an odd clichéd flicker of some sort of emotion in his gray eyes. He does something quite unexpected.
"Lift me up" he orders. I comply. He is looking me directly in the eye. He puts his lips to mine. I like the way he tastes. I enjoy the way he is putting his tongue in my mouth. He pulls away just when I crave him the most.
"Put me down" he orders. I comply, gently placing him on the ground. He smirks at me. He looks as lovely as ever but I dislike his current expression.
"I'm sorry Gregory, but I don't swing that way" he says coldly. My eyes widen at this statement. He is merely using me. I am nothing to him.
"Follow me, Crabbe" he says. Vincent follows Draco, both of them leaving me behind. I am now a discarded object. I find my vision blurring. Tears are for wimps.
I own no one. Standard disclaimers apply. There is slash in this.
People see me as nothing more than a mindless goon. They say things in front of me, and assume that I'm too daft to comprehend. I am not even an individual to them. I have no personality. I lack everything but the most primitive of emotions. My only purpose is to be large and intimidating.
My partner in goonism understands, but not completely. He doesn't fancy the person we're supposed to protect. He doesn't find himself entranced by the delicate beauty that is Draco Malfoy. He prefers the tits of Millicent Bulstrode, at least that is what I've surmised from his many off-color comments about her.
Sure, we both love the little bugger but I can't seem to get the annoying little git out of my mind. I catch myself staring at his slender form, whenever he changes. I'm glad he hasn't noticed yet.
I admit that he can be a nuisance. If he had learned to keep his mouth shut then he wouldn't need his pair of large, burly goons. I am flanking him as usual. He is speaking but I find myself distracted by his fine arse.
"Goyle, are you listening to me?" he asks, looking up at me and scowling. The expression is far too cute to intimidate me. I am tempted to touch his smooth, pale cheek but I hold back.
"Huh?" I respond stupidly. No wonder people assume that I have the intelligence of plankton. Draco glares at me, as if he was saying anything of significance. He usually rants about Potter, or Weasley, or the Mudblood Granger.
"He was staring at your arse!" my partner in goonism pipes in. I punch him in the arm. My trollish face starts to turn red in anger and embarrassment. Or perhaps, I am merely blushing over what Vincent Crabbe has revealed. Draco continues to glare up at me.
"Is that true?" he asks. I gulp before nodding. I can't speak. I feel an odd lump in my throat. He looks thoughtful for a second. There is an odd clichéd flicker of some sort of emotion in his gray eyes. He does something quite unexpected.
"Lift me up" he orders. I comply. He is looking me directly in the eye. He puts his lips to mine. I like the way he tastes. I enjoy the way he is putting his tongue in my mouth. He pulls away just when I crave him the most.
"Put me down" he orders. I comply, gently placing him on the ground. He smirks at me. He looks as lovely as ever but I dislike his current expression.
"I'm sorry Gregory, but I don't swing that way" he says coldly. My eyes widen at this statement. He is merely using me. I am nothing to him.
"Follow me, Crabbe" he says. Vincent follows Draco, both of them leaving me behind. I am now a discarded object. I find my vision blurring. Tears are for wimps.