Before you begin, there is shounen-ai/slash here. That is - boy-boy "interaction" that goes deeper than friendship. If you don't like it, then turn back now. But, if you decide to flame me, I will only laugh at you, respond nicely, block your e-mail, and whatever I feel like doing and/or can think of doing. Thank you. But, for those of you that appreciate slash, then, by all means, carry on and see if you like it. I'd like a constructive critique when you're finished, if you please. Enjoy. ^_^
One Night
He would argue with himself later that it hadn't been him; it had been someone else. It had to have been. Because he wouldn't have done that. But, the same little voice kept saying, "No, it had been you. And you know it." Yes, grudgingly, he supposed he did know it. But, that didn't make it any more understandable or bearable...
The clothing he wore seemed heavy. He knew, though, without looking down, that he was only wearing a casual button-up shirt and cotton pants. How he knew this, he could not guess, but he knew it alright. It was like one of those things that you feel silly to question; like knowing that the sky is blue, even if you had lived in a stuffy closet benieth a flight of stairs for many days on end, without permission to breathe free air.
His gaze looked upon the cold mist, wondering where he was, but only because that seemed to be the logical thing to do. Really, though, he felt like he knew exactly where he was, and why he was there, too. But, there was no word he knew for it. So, technically, he really didn't know where he was. At least, not afterwards. Perhaps he knew then. But, that didn't matter.
He knew why he was there, too. Maybe. It felt right to be there. Like he was being expected, but not in an ominous way. Yes, that was it. He felt like he was being expected, and he was right on time.
Despite the cool night, his body was almost alarmingly hot, as if he were burning with fever. Hairs were standing up, thermophobic, as if trying to break away from the heat of his body before they were burnt to a pathetic wisp of ash. Logically, he knew he should have been worried, yet, he wasn't. He supposed that he shouldn't have to worry about it, since the surrounding air was frozen, so much so that you could see the ice floating in the air, something like steam, rising off the ground. It was so cold. But, it was surprisingly comforting. It felt like a cold hand being pushed gently to the hot skin of his neck; wrong and contrasting, yet almost loving... As he inspected the cold, yet warm feeling against his neck with his mind, he realized slowly and indubiously that the cold air had, in fact, turned into a hand. A strong, firm hand with creamy skin and taught tendons. Again, he simply knew this. Didn't think to question it. And he knew exactly who it was behind him.
Another boy walked around him, his hand still against the flat of the bloodless neck. His black hair looked different from normal, yet not out of place. It was combed, brushed back with careful diligance, and it almost looked slicked. The boy did nothing as he was carefully looked over and inspected, without alarm or prejudice. Eyes moved down from the boy's hair to his eyes - bright, green eyes - beautifully set off by the darkness of his hair. They were smiling softly, as were the pair of soft, pink lips below the cute, rounded nose. He found himself staring at the lips. But, the other boy didn't seem to take notice. Finally, he pulled his eyes away and looked down at the boy's clothing. He was dressed up, as if for some special occasion, or meeting. An above-casual, yet not quite fancy white, button-up shirt was tucked into black slacks, and over his right arm, svelte and attractive, was slung a black dinner jacket. He looked very handsome, yet somehow he managed to keep his boyish innocence. Silver eyes lazily went back up the length of the boy's body, admiring other features that would later cause him to visibly shudder, reaffirming the normal, arrogant, snobbish countenence.
He was so close. The hand at the back of his neck was perhaps the reason. But, he still seemed too far away. There was tension in the air, but a definately pleasant tension that sent a shiver shooting up his hot spine, accentuated by the realization that a thumb was stroking the pale skin benieth his ear. But, everything seemed normal. There was no negative tension or hostility, as there usually would have been. It was as if both were completely used to this, as appalling a thought as it was.
It was an exciting feeling. Exciting to know that this boy was here, with him, for a reason. But, strangely, he couldn't know what reason it was. But, it would have been silly to ask, silly to have broken the comfortable silence. And so, he didn't ask, and instead waited.
The other boy seemed to have taken his own inventory check. When satisfied, his emerald lagoons looked back up to the pools of moon before him. He took a soft, slow step forward. Time had slowed, almost ceasing to exist. Perhaps, it had ceased to exist. The hand at the back of his neck, slowly and calculated, added pressure, pulling the slim, slender body closer. There was no more need to ask why they were here.
He stepped forward, the distance between he and the boy annihilated. The boy gracefully leaned forward, his eyes slowly lowering to slits, green half-moons benieth an expectant sky of satin. Their setting began to melt together when their lips brushed, testing the waters.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy kissed in the darkness of the warm, foggy night. A warm wind brushed their clothes, seeming to push Harry's lips closer to his partner's, encouraging him to dive deeper into the intoxication of ecstacy. He stepped ever closer to Draco, casting the jacket aside, distracted, in preference to feeling the line of Draco's hips under his strong, claiming hands. Draco, in turn, lifted his hands to Harry's arms, sliding up their length to his shoulders, examining the slight rise of Quidditch muscle.
Suddenly, there was nothing. Then a pair of doors were ahead of him. Small, wooden doors, like that of a wardrobe, perhaps. But, there was no handles or knobs. Just rectangular designs cut in wood. There's a noise. Someone speaking. One door opens.
Then he woke up. His eyes slid open to stare at the pillow, puffing up on his left. He was lying in bed at the Malfoy Mansion, in his own room. He was breathing heavily, and his pajamas were sticking to him, yet he felt so cold. With a shiver, he curled himself up. Then the sound of gentle pounding reached his ears. Wide, silver eyes snapped to the open window, where heavy rains were spilling through to the already wet carpet on the floor. How did the window get opened? That window hadn't been open since last spring. "...If there's anybody here, you'd better come out before I call security," Draco said to the darkness, trying to sound tougher than he felt. There was a ruffle from inside his wardrobe. A black-haired boy stumbled out.
End
By the way, you were supposed to be confused throughout half of that. It's hard to cover up identities of two characters that are interacting. So, I might do some revising, if enough people say something about it. Let me know in a review please. And, remember, don't talk to me if you intend to tell me that this is wrong, sick, twisted, and all that other stuff. Thanks for reading.
He would argue with himself later that it hadn't been him; it had been someone else. It had to have been. Because he wouldn't have done that. But, the same little voice kept saying, "No, it had been you. And you know it." Yes, grudgingly, he supposed he did know it. But, that didn't make it any more understandable or bearable...
The clothing he wore seemed heavy. He knew, though, without looking down, that he was only wearing a casual button-up shirt and cotton pants. How he knew this, he could not guess, but he knew it alright. It was like one of those things that you feel silly to question; like knowing that the sky is blue, even if you had lived in a stuffy closet benieth a flight of stairs for many days on end, without permission to breathe free air.
His gaze looked upon the cold mist, wondering where he was, but only because that seemed to be the logical thing to do. Really, though, he felt like he knew exactly where he was, and why he was there, too. But, there was no word he knew for it. So, technically, he really didn't know where he was. At least, not afterwards. Perhaps he knew then. But, that didn't matter.
He knew why he was there, too. Maybe. It felt right to be there. Like he was being expected, but not in an ominous way. Yes, that was it. He felt like he was being expected, and he was right on time.
Despite the cool night, his body was almost alarmingly hot, as if he were burning with fever. Hairs were standing up, thermophobic, as if trying to break away from the heat of his body before they were burnt to a pathetic wisp of ash. Logically, he knew he should have been worried, yet, he wasn't. He supposed that he shouldn't have to worry about it, since the surrounding air was frozen, so much so that you could see the ice floating in the air, something like steam, rising off the ground. It was so cold. But, it was surprisingly comforting. It felt like a cold hand being pushed gently to the hot skin of his neck; wrong and contrasting, yet almost loving... As he inspected the cold, yet warm feeling against his neck with his mind, he realized slowly and indubiously that the cold air had, in fact, turned into a hand. A strong, firm hand with creamy skin and taught tendons. Again, he simply knew this. Didn't think to question it. And he knew exactly who it was behind him.
Another boy walked around him, his hand still against the flat of the bloodless neck. His black hair looked different from normal, yet not out of place. It was combed, brushed back with careful diligance, and it almost looked slicked. The boy did nothing as he was carefully looked over and inspected, without alarm or prejudice. Eyes moved down from the boy's hair to his eyes - bright, green eyes - beautifully set off by the darkness of his hair. They were smiling softly, as were the pair of soft, pink lips below the cute, rounded nose. He found himself staring at the lips. But, the other boy didn't seem to take notice. Finally, he pulled his eyes away and looked down at the boy's clothing. He was dressed up, as if for some special occasion, or meeting. An above-casual, yet not quite fancy white, button-up shirt was tucked into black slacks, and over his right arm, svelte and attractive, was slung a black dinner jacket. He looked very handsome, yet somehow he managed to keep his boyish innocence. Silver eyes lazily went back up the length of the boy's body, admiring other features that would later cause him to visibly shudder, reaffirming the normal, arrogant, snobbish countenence.
He was so close. The hand at the back of his neck was perhaps the reason. But, he still seemed too far away. There was tension in the air, but a definately pleasant tension that sent a shiver shooting up his hot spine, accentuated by the realization that a thumb was stroking the pale skin benieth his ear. But, everything seemed normal. There was no negative tension or hostility, as there usually would have been. It was as if both were completely used to this, as appalling a thought as it was.
It was an exciting feeling. Exciting to know that this boy was here, with him, for a reason. But, strangely, he couldn't know what reason it was. But, it would have been silly to ask, silly to have broken the comfortable silence. And so, he didn't ask, and instead waited.
The other boy seemed to have taken his own inventory check. When satisfied, his emerald lagoons looked back up to the pools of moon before him. He took a soft, slow step forward. Time had slowed, almost ceasing to exist. Perhaps, it had ceased to exist. The hand at the back of his neck, slowly and calculated, added pressure, pulling the slim, slender body closer. There was no more need to ask why they were here.
He stepped forward, the distance between he and the boy annihilated. The boy gracefully leaned forward, his eyes slowly lowering to slits, green half-moons benieth an expectant sky of satin. Their setting began to melt together when their lips brushed, testing the waters.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy kissed in the darkness of the warm, foggy night. A warm wind brushed their clothes, seeming to push Harry's lips closer to his partner's, encouraging him to dive deeper into the intoxication of ecstacy. He stepped ever closer to Draco, casting the jacket aside, distracted, in preference to feeling the line of Draco's hips under his strong, claiming hands. Draco, in turn, lifted his hands to Harry's arms, sliding up their length to his shoulders, examining the slight rise of Quidditch muscle.
Suddenly, there was nothing. Then a pair of doors were ahead of him. Small, wooden doors, like that of a wardrobe, perhaps. But, there was no handles or knobs. Just rectangular designs cut in wood. There's a noise. Someone speaking. One door opens.
Then he woke up. His eyes slid open to stare at the pillow, puffing up on his left. He was lying in bed at the Malfoy Mansion, in his own room. He was breathing heavily, and his pajamas were sticking to him, yet he felt so cold. With a shiver, he curled himself up. Then the sound of gentle pounding reached his ears. Wide, silver eyes snapped to the open window, where heavy rains were spilling through to the already wet carpet on the floor. How did the window get opened? That window hadn't been open since last spring. "...If there's anybody here, you'd better come out before I call security," Draco said to the darkness, trying to sound tougher than he felt. There was a ruffle from inside his wardrobe. A black-haired boy stumbled out.
By the way, you were supposed to be confused throughout half of that. It's hard to cover up identities of two characters that are interacting. So, I might do some revising, if enough people say something about it. Let me know in a review please. And, remember, don't talk to me if you intend to tell me that this is wrong, sick, twisted, and all that other stuff. Thanks for reading.