Author: Sazmuffin
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Title: Eternity
Ship: Harry/Cedric
Rating: T
A/N: I quite like this one. It just kind of came to me
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It's an odd feeling, thinking you're in love. You feel like you've felt all these emotions before; the tingling palms, your stomach throwing back flips off the high dive, your heart's beating resembling a race horse or a beat-boxing rapper. But this time, I don't feel any of that.
It feels almost like I'm not in love at all, except for the fact that I should think that if anything were to happen to him, I wouldn't be able to go on myself. The simple fact of his breathing is the only thing that keeps me going, that lulls me to sleep at night when the nightmares arrive, accompanied by a cold sweat and an urge to cry out for him like he's the only person that exists.
I don't understand these feelings, but part of me doesn't want to. Part of me doesn't want to know the logistics of two parts of the same anatomy coming together rather than one of each. But how can someone so right, so perfect, turn out to be something wrong?
A taste, that's all I want. A taste of those pale pink lips, cushioning those neatly aligned teeth, and that tongue – oh Merlin, that tongue. When I sleep I can feel that tongue everywhere; it's enough to drive a person mad with lust.
I guess that's why Cedric seemed a little more than surprised when I nearly attacked him like a pack of angry wolves. My fists are full of his lapels, his full of my hair. Our lips collide somewhere in the middle, mouths open, tongues exploring. I feel like he's devouring my entire face from the way his lips cover mine, but I don't mind because it's probably the sexiest thing I've ever come in contact with.
His lean body is pressing mine into the wall, as I memorize every muscle definition of his abdominals. His hands slowly reach down and cup my arse, rubbing himself on me like he's going to die tomorrow. I feel inexperienced to almost an innumerable degree, but he doesn't seem to mind. He has me
so incoherent from his ministrations that the only thing I can do is just stand there and moan myself hoarse.
Those lips have migrated south and are now sucking hickeys on my neck with youthful abandon. Tomorrow is really the last time I'll be able to see him on the grounds of "a few pointers for the task", seeing as it's the last and most difficult one. I haven't the slightest idea who might win, but I know for sure that it's not going to be me. I don't want it to be me. All I want is for his lips to never leave mine.
-
It's an odd feeling, thinking you're completely numb. Surely I can't be numb; if you're numb you can't feel any pain. And that certainly isn't my predicament.
The nightmares have increased a thousand fold, but their subjects vary from time to time. Usually I'm reliving his death over and over again in my head, envisioning the occurrence of life and death simultaneously. His beautiful face frozen in a dazed, frightful stare, lying there in the dewy grass. His skin feels like stone, cold and unforgiving, not the dimpled flesh of the man I love.
Other times, it's much, much worse. I can feel his smoldering stare as he catches my eye from across the Great Hall. There's a smirk hidden in his eyes, because he knows my deepest secret. Those eyes hold a promise never to tell; but threaten to, only because he knows it gets me off in a morbid sort of way.
All those times when I can feel his touch flood back into my senses and I'm reliving it; the passion and the heat, his touch on my skin, my touch on his. Softly spoken words and screams of ecstasy, names and swears and cleansing spells. Everything comes back in a tidal wave of pleasure and pain, mixed together in some sort of symphony that hasn't been composed yet. Everything; and then it's violently ripped from my grasp, held at a distance that I can't reach. Eternity.