Title: Glitter
Author: Kat Halcyon
E-mail: kathalcyon@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Category: Romance/Angst
Couple: Oliver/Seamus, Oliver/Cedric
Warning: Although there is nothing explicit, this story deals with a romantic and sexual relationship between two people of the same sex.
Spoilers: Goblet of Fire
Disclaimer: They belong to JKR. Who I am not. Therefore, they do not belong to me. I'm just playing.
Summary: Slash with angst and no apparent plot.
Author's Note: Claire, Glim, Katrie and Anti: This is *so* your fault. A month ago, I wasn't a slasher. Glim especially, thanks for beta'ing. Love you!
I look at my lover, sprawled out on our bed. It's past ten, but he never gets out of bed before noon if he can help it. I'm an early riser – too many early morning Quidditch practices, he teases me on a regular basis. I don't mind when he teases, with his words or with his actions. It's part of who he is, why I care about him.
Caring. That's as far as I've let myself go, or at least admitted to. Not love. I wasn't looking for love.
I'd been in love once before. Cedric… as always, my throat clenches and a stinging sensation comes to my eyes. There's a reason I don't think about Cedric. It hurts and I can't bear to cry about it. I can't cry; I don't. Not me. Doesn't go with the image. Quidditch jocks don't cry over dead loves. It's just not done.
I deliberately blink, chasing away the tingling feeling behind my eyelids. No tears.
Under control once more, I shift my gaze back to the man on the bed. His shiny, dark blond hair, the colour of the desert, the colour of tarnished gold, sticks up in spikes over the pillow. There is still a trace of glitter gel on his cheekbones and I know if I were to pull back the sheets, there would be sparkles on his smooth chest, too. He's addicted to glitter gel.
I don't mind. He's so pretty.
He's only my second lover. I know I'm definitely a higher number for him. Many people have told me about how, after the Weasley twins graduated, he became the slut of Gryffindor. It's okay. That was back during the height of the war against Voldemort. I can't bring myself to mind what happened between friends the nights when tomorrows were uncertain.
I never turned to a friend like that. It had been too soon for me after Cedric's… no. I'm not thinking about that, I remind myself.
So I turn my thoughts back to the man on the bed, and his out-flung limbs, and his sweet, full-lipped smile, and his constant heat.
It's his nature to care about people deeply. That's why he offered himself so often, has been with so many people. He freely let others use him for their comfort. He can't bear to see people in pain.
And he's so bad at pretending his own pain isn't there. I remember him on the anniversary of his best friend's death. He tried to be his typical self, cheery and joking and hot. I saw through it right away and tried to offer my own comfort, but he didn't, wouldn't, accept. Always the comforter, never the comforted; that's his way.
His beautiful, beautiful way.
I know he comes across as shallow, an exhibitionist. I know he wants people to think of him like that. It's easier if no one sees him as more than the fun one, the pretty face.
I see him as more.
As I'm studying his girlishly long lashes, like butterfly wings lying against his cheekbones, they flutter, eyelids raising to show startlingly dark blue eyes. His over-full lips curve. "Hey," he says, voice sexily accented and sleep-rough.
I smile back. "Hey yourself." I move from the chair I've been sitting in to the bed, beside him. I stroke his straw-coloured hair off his face, then run my finger along his face where glitter still touches it.
He's the opposite of Cedric, who was serious and sober and who I used to tease about being a prude. But he's the same, too, though he tries to hide it.
I wasn't looking for love, but I think I just might have it. He's one of those people who can't help but love, who you can't help but love back.
He reaches up, links his hands behind my head, and pulls me down to kiss him.