Kiss me.
Hands touching. Legs intertwined. Two vents you want.
The room is always that, two weeks now. Every night they meet there, in the one bedroom to the Shrieking Shack, a room which has seen them uncover, expose and combat them.
Many might call it their love nest, but among them there is only an attraction almost painful.
Groans that resonate in the darkness of night. The noise of the dresses that fall to the ground faster accompanying gestures, almost embarrassed. The smack of kisses, almost tender, stone, with so much vehemence.
The springs of the bed give way under the weight of two bodies, fit their shapes. Almost certainly, within a few hours it will form a small basin where now rests the back of the youngest boy.
A small body that arcs and falls on the mattress scattering her hair uncombed and blacks on the pillow. Her face flushed, eyes bright green and bright red lips and slightly cracked, is close to that of another boy with brown hair and eyes blacks. Tanned skin that rubs the skin transparent.
Another moan, louder than the others, comes from the lips of the raven-haired boy. Sigh broke the silence, before leaving in place a series of grunts.
In the air you can smell of sweat and after a few minutes, becomes even more intense than sex.
After moments of silence, a murmur.
- Tom? Kiss me. --
***
- Harry? But hello! - The freckled face of Ron appeared before the eyes of Harry. It was a dream, the usual dream. He had to stop thinking that the monster who had killed, was the same guy fascinated known in the Chamber of Secrets with whom, would meet every night in my dreams. He had to stop to get caught up with guilt. Tom and Voldemort were two people still distinct entities: the student model and murder.
- Hi, Ron. I'm going for a shower .- The other nodded, and when the hot water shower slid on his back, loosening tense muscles, Harry whispered back that sentence.
- Kiss me, Tom. --