Title: Photogenic
Rating: PG-13/R
Word count: 386
Pairing: Harry/James
Summary: It's your light in your darkness. You
always shy away from the light, never want to look into that
brightness, but this lightness is all right.
You never show his picture to anyone. Sure, you've shown your friends pictures of your parents before, but not this one, not this one. You never take it out when you're with others, when you're in the light. You take it out in the cupboard, back in the cupboard when your relatives are punishing you (again). Or maybe not in the old cupboard, maybe the next time you take it out is in your four-poster bed, back in the Hogwarts dormitories, with the curtains drawn. Perhaps in the Room of Requirement, trying to escape your world for a little while.
Your picture doesn't belong out in the light. It belongs with you, only with you, only in the dark.
You want to keep it yours, your own.
It's your light in your darkness. You always shy away from the light, never want to look into that brightness, but this lightness is all right. It's all right to feel this lightness. Because you take it out when no one's looking at it, and you stroke it, outlining the black and white figure, tracing his face, so eerily like your own, except for your eyes, you have your mother's eyes.
As your fingers caress the paper, you block out all your senses until all you can do is see. You see the smiling face in front of you, and wish that it was really real, that he came and rescued you from this, that he'll pop his head into your room the next day and smile at you, that he isn't really dead, that he's alive. You see the light in his eyes and dimly wonder what it would be like to see them up close, as he hugs you and whispers in your ear, I love you. Sometimes you even want to be him, be that person in your picture, smiling so happily.
But you can't keep the world from spinning and as reality seeps back in, you close your eyes, trying, trying, trying to block everything out except for this feeling, now that you're finally free, and you're so desperate to keep him here, you stroke your cock and imagine his face, his smiling face, smiling at you. As you gasp and moan, you're crying because you want this, want him, and when you shudder to a stop-
You're always left like this. You're always a mess, with your hair even more mussed than usual, tear tracks staining your face. Your clothes stick to your body, and everything is covered in semen and sweat.
But no one will see you. Thoughts spin in your head and you've never been able to keep them straight. But maybe it's all right. No one sees you cry but him, so maybe it's all right.