Just A Thought
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He studied his quarry thoughtfully, still not moving from the perch of his favourite armchair by the fire. It would be too much energy expended for him to cross over to the chess table where Michael sat, battling one of their dorm-mates in a subdued version of Wizard's Chess, only to be rejected. So from his chair he simply dreamed that he did stand, did walk over to the table and claim those pouty lips in their first kiss. In his dream Michael didn't object, didn't try to push him away, but kissed him back as if he felt that way too.
No one was there but them, or so it seemed. No taste comparable to that of Michael on his tongue, Michael in his mouth, when he got to that illicit act. The aggressive way he reacted when his yellow-and-black tie was tugged on, pulling him along with his lover on the four-poster bed. The welcome, heavy feeling of Michael's body topping his, dominating him entirely as he cried out his pleasure.
The warmth of Michael's body afterward, pressed deliciously against his. The knowledge of what had passed, and the anticipation of doing it all over again.
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Ravenclaws have excellent imaginative powers, but they tend to get obsessed with that which they study. Terry Boot was no different on that lonely evening by the common room fire.
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