Title: It Was Not…
Author/Artist: allyyyyyy
Length: 1,115 words.
Pairing: R/D, Implied Ron/Hermione
Rating: R to be safe though the smut is camouflaged in there.
Warnings: Just your normal slash piece because is there anything else to write?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: It is always easier to consider what it is not than to admit to what it is.
A/N: Another middle of the night creation. I'm enamored with the pairing once more, for obvious reasons. Beta'd by Nathaniel at Perfect Imagination.
It was not love. It was only lust, a heavy and thick feeling digging into the pit of his stomach; crushing him and building him back up all at once.
A familiar head of red hair caught silver eyes and though they fought to search elsewhere, they were helpless to do much else but fall sullenly upon the man. He was with her as he often was. She was laughing beside him, grasping his arm as she spoke of their impending nuptials. A smile was plastered upon her face so wide he feared something might get caught in it. He knew she was happy and he didn't care. He saw only the redhead beside her, the upward curve of his lips a fallacy that only the blond could see. Before he could even think otherwise, the desire to wipe the misleading smirk from his face was all consuming. He wanted another expression to play across those coveted features. He wanted to be the cause.
It was not controllable. It was capable of grabbing a hold of them at even the slightest stirring and it ripped clothes away and pressed bare flesh together in a forbidden dance.
It was simple and difficult all at once to draw him away. Their eyes needed to only meet just once before they both knew what would soon befall them. Neither were stupid and neither naïve. Neither could stop it and neither knew how to begin to do so. The redhead muttered brief words to his companion, an apologetic look dampening his features as he untangled his limbs from her and sank away, regret tainting his steps, lust billowing wildly in his stomach.
It was not right. It was wrong and they were both so aware that it hurt. It hurt before it began and it hurt once it was finished.
The library belonged to neither of them and neither seemed to mind. A quiet whisper of silencing charm and a lock placed the door were the only confirmations either would receive. She would still be outside the door once they were finished. She would still be waiting for him and she would still take him home with her. He would still be hers and it mattered to neither of them. For in the brief moments they had left, they belonged only to one another.
It was not real. It was an illusion cleverly crafted by the two of them, a world that only they could claim; a world where they were untouchable.
Forgotten were thoughts of the past. Previous discrepancies were locked on the other side of the door. All that mattered then were the two pounding hearts and the brief hesitation exhibited to one another they drew near, neither willing to make the first move and neither capable of denying it.
It was not safe. It was terrifying to find such reckless abandon capturing his soul and wrenching it clean of the small sanity he had left.
The blond moved first, overstepping a boundary that was not visible to the untrained eye. His smaller frame crept close, hesitant at first glance but predatory beneath the surface. The moment shattered as elegant fingers splayed against the exposed flesh of a freckled neck and drew forbidden lips together, furious and desperate. It was as it always was, an erotic dance between two strong forces that refused to comply. As a tongue slipped into the blonde's mouth, they both knew a dangerous line had been crossed and now there would be no turning back.
It was not proper. It was the utter description of indecency as teeth crept across skin, as fingers ripped through sweat-tangled locks.
Concern seemed a thought of the past as the shirt was lifted from a freckled chest and a feral blond descended upon the exposed skin. Lips lingered across the raised clavicle, teeth teasing in a way that they both knew she never would. Rough hands dug into blond hair, yanking the mouth away from its game. The redhead spared a moment's glance at his companion, a look passing between them and disappearing just as fast as their mouths crushed together again. It was dark and it was wrong and it was all he could think about when the blond slipped into eyesight. He needed to possess the smaller man in a way that he never would with her.
It was not slow. It was a meeting of two bodies, anxious and desperate, parched men drinking from the only fountain that may provide them satisfaction.
Able hands yanked trousers down, a brief collide of flesh and wood from the table as the redhead readied himself. It was not preferred but time was not on their side and his wand was plucked from discarded garments to utter words that sent a shiver through the blond, anticipation grating his nerves to the quick. Cursed words left the dainty mouth, patience no longer a reality. With a grunt, a moan, and a push, the two bodies become one for the briefest of moments. Teeth crash upon a pale shoulder as freckled hands press heavily upon those same elegant fingers as they brace themselves against the table. Neither speaks and neither moves. It is a perfect world for the most miniscule of moments before reality wraps them in its cold embrace and they move against one another. The pace cannot remain slow. Nothing between them is slow.
It was not built to last. It was a fleeting moment, swirling around them and fizzing out before they were even aware of its presence.
Slick bodies move against one another, pressing the other further and further towards completion, a worn hand moving over flesh, keeping the ferocious pace and drawing the only reaction either was concerned with. The smaller body shutters against the freckled form, breath heavy in the blonde's chest. He presses still and draws the reaction he had sought from across the room. In a moment of weakness, as recovery sailed upon the horizon, lips dropped against the same pale shoulder which wore remains of their tryst. It seemed to catch them both off guard and they pulled apart as suddenly as they began. Without sparing a glance towards the other, they dressed separately, the electricity in the air dull and dead. The blond broke the spell upon the door and with it the one that had held them in place. He slipped out first and all his retreating form heard was the thud of a skull against the door.
It was not love. It was only lust, a heavy and thick feeling digging into the pit of his stomach; crushing him and building him back up all at once.