Title: The Sweetest Sin is Always the Deadliest
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: R for mild sexual content
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Category: Romance/Horror
Summary: One-shot. Songfic. Harry has an obsession. It's about time he did something about it, eh? H/D slash.
Disclaimer, Warning, Author's Note: Harry and Draco belong to JK. The song "Sweetest Sin" belongs to Jessica Simpson. Warning: This is SLASH!! If you are homophobic, then LEAVE!!! This fic was entirely inspired by my love for the morbid and by listening to this song continuously. Bwua ha! It's actually the only song by Jessica Simpson I really like. I'm more of a bluesy rock/gothic grunge kind of person. *wink*
Obsession- [2]: an unhealthy preoccupation with something or someone
Fixation- [3]: A strong attachment to a person or thing, especially such an attachment formed in childhood.
Devotion- [2]: The state of being devoted; addiction; eager inclination; strong attachment love or affection; zeal; expressed through worship
Like silk, the flesh moves across his torso. It's so smooth, like white marble. Those lips, so soft, so inviting, caress the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He digs his fingernails into that pale, supple flesh, drawing half-moons of blood. Desire floods his body, heat rising from his flesh. Teeth nip at his chest, tweaking the skin. It feels so sinful, so altogether wrong, so… delicious.
He moans softly, biting into a smooth, pale shoulder to keep from crying out. He feels himself being laid back and he sighs in disappointment as the contact is severed. And then, he feels an overwhelming sense of release as the warm, hot mouth takes him in, the feel of the tongue running up his length. And then it leaves, moving to his inner thigh, crawling up the flexing muscles, curling around the delicate curve of toned flesh.
He gasps a name as cool fingers split his legs farther, teeth burying themselves in the sensitive flesh. "Draco…"
And he wakes up.
Can you imagine us,
Making love
The way you would feel the first time that we touched,
Can you think of it
The way I dream of it,
I want you to see like I'm seeing you
It's a picture of perfection,
The vision of you and me
He walks blindly, mind filled with half-finished thoughts on the dream he'd just had. Vividly, he could still feel the hungry, prying fingertips traveling over him, exploring each and every crevice and indentation. The heavy, hot breath against his neck; the softly whispered words.
He sighs, leaning against the wall. He can't live like this. Every dream that he witnesses, the more he needs it. The more real it becomes. So hungry, so needing. It's a constant hunger in the bowels of his mind. A longing.
Dreams can barely begin to describe the sensation of seeing that cool, silky flesh; the silver eyes, calm and relaxed; white-blonde hair, warm candlelight reflecting off it in pinpoints of light. It's like gazing upon a fallen angel… or a risen demon. Both are correct and hardly close to the truth.
Your lips upon my lips
Can you just picture this
Your fingertips on my fingertips
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin
Would be the Sweetest Sin
He can see him visibly from where he stands; the same refined aristocratic posture, same lithe form hugged by sleek black robes, same beautiful silver eyes narrowed but calm. He knows every little detail of that body; that face. He knows what each subtle change meant; when he was angry, annoyed, or amused.
His pitch green eyes flash dangerously, a warm desire glowing from their depths. A small smile flutters casually across his obsession's features and something, almost imperceivable, breaks, shatters, falls to the ground and crashes, inside him. He moans unconsciously, back pressed against the wall, as people rush by unknowingly. He blinks, realizing dimly that tears are rising in his eyes. He narrows his eyes, ignoring their dampness and starts forward.
All night I lie awake,
Cause it's to much to take
Dreamin' about the love that we could make, All day,
I think of scenes
To get you next to me,
I want you so bad that I can barely breathe
It's a sign of my obsession,
That I can't stop thinkin' bout'
When his body stops moving, walking, he is so close he can feel the heat radiating the familiar body. He shivers. Cool gray eyes turn to him suddenly, narrowed slightly in what he knows is curiosity. They bear into him, sending torrents of icy waves across his nerves, washing up on the dirty shores of his mind. He takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles. He smiles as if it comes naturally, standing here.
"What do you want, Potter?"
He runs his tongue across his lower lip, almost nervously, anxiously, but his smile broadens considerably. He leans in, voice low and seductive, lips almost making contact with the creamy flesh of the cheek bone. "You know what I want."
It's so simple. So relieving. So deliciously tormenting. It's almost painful, being so close and not being able to run his fingers across the smooth, flawless skin. His luscious green eyes are narrowed to slits, gleaming with lust. Oh, lust is such a pretty thing.
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you envision this
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That would be the Sweetest Sin
Surprise(?), fear(?) flashes through the silver eyes, so quickly and suddenly one would believe it was just a figment of their imagination. Maybe it is the raw emotion in the serpentine eyes, or the confidence in which he approached, face without doubt or uncertainty. But there is a very subtle caution and fear. Of course, it is masked easily; covered and cloaked by a calm, logical façade.
"Aren't I a little dangerous for you to be hanging around, Potter? Wouldn't want precious Potter getting…hurt, would we?"
He smiles at these words. "Assumption's so dangerous. It wouldn't be wise for you to throw it about like that." He smirks, cupping a hand around the pale face. The contact makes his fingertips burn; his body aching for more closure. He sighs softly, almost sorrowfully. "Oh, you've no idea how much I've wanted to touch you."
It would feel so good,
To be so bad
You don't know how bad, I want that,
I would do anything to feel your love
The silvery irises glance down at the hand, another subtle change from fear to confusion. Neither realize people have stopped to watch this bizarre exchange. Whispers flutter about softly, never meeting their ears.
Something clicks, inaudibly, like the repetition of a working clock. Green and silver melt against each other, melding; burning lights slipping into one another. Something is understood, comprehended, realized. Something bad. Something dangerous. Something delicious and sinful and devouring.
It has yet to be spoken.
"I want to own you."
Until now. There is no shock or surprise in either set of eyes. The observers mutter to one another. Then, lips meet, a contrast of electricity midst the contact. A collective gasp hovers around like a ghost. It is no simple kiss like in a romantic picture, a movie; it is hungry and needy. Blood appears between the compressed flesh, from whom, no one can tell.
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you just picture this
Your finger tips on my finger tips,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That Would be the Sweetest Sin
An unspoken revelation is made. A fear commences through dozens of pairs of eyes. A dawning recognition of the terror they will face surfaces in a hundred minds at once.
They notice none of this. The sweet taste of each other's mouths swallow their senses and they are unaware of the voices spinning around them like a verbal top, drifting and drifting with no sign of stopping. They draw away, expressionless, eyes hard but wonderfully warm with want.
Now, they face the sets of eyes fixated upon their forms, fearful and nervous, shocked and stunned. They smile calm smiles, cruel and amused like those of the jester on the muggle "Jokawild" poster. They glance at each other and turn away, eerily silent and devoid of emotion.
Your lips upon my lips,
Can you envision this
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
Would be the Sweetest Sin
They walk away, slowly, not even looking at each other. The crowd files in behind them, watching with terrified, wide eyes. What was to become of them?
The pair disappeared around the corner and many of the crowd believes they hear a distant cold laughter echoing off the stone walls. But maybe it is just imagination. …Maybe.
-Finis-
Author's Notes: I reposted this solely because I wanted to test my HTML program to see if it worked. I chose this one randomly. Oh well, if you hadn't already reviewed the first time I posted this, review!
Author: MalfoySlave
Rating: R for mild sexual content
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Category: Romance/Horror
Summary: One-shot. Songfic. Harry has an obsession. It's about time he did something about it, eh? H/D slash.
Disclaimer, Warning, Author's Note: Harry and Draco belong to JK. The song "Sweetest Sin" belongs to Jessica Simpson. Warning: This is SLASH!! If you are homophobic, then LEAVE!!! This fic was entirely inspired by my love for the morbid and by listening to this song continuously. Bwua ha! It's actually the only song by Jessica Simpson I really like. I'm more of a bluesy rock/gothic grunge kind of person. *wink*
Obsession- [2]: an unhealthy preoccupation with something or someone
Fixation- [3]: A strong attachment to a person or thing, especially such an attachment formed in childhood.
Devotion- [2]: The state of being devoted; addiction; eager inclination; strong attachment love or affection; zeal; expressed through worship
Like silk, the flesh moves across his torso. It's so smooth, like white marble. Those lips, so soft, so inviting, caress the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He digs his fingernails into that pale, supple flesh, drawing half-moons of blood. Desire floods his body, heat rising from his flesh. Teeth nip at his chest, tweaking the skin. It feels so sinful, so altogether wrong, so… delicious.
He moans softly, biting into a smooth, pale shoulder to keep from crying out. He feels himself being laid back and he sighs in disappointment as the contact is severed. And then, he feels an overwhelming sense of release as the warm, hot mouth takes him in, the feel of the tongue running up his length. And then it leaves, moving to his inner thigh, crawling up the flexing muscles, curling around the delicate curve of toned flesh.
He gasps a name as cool fingers split his legs farther, teeth burying themselves in the sensitive flesh. "Draco…"
And he wakes up.
Making love
The way you would feel the first time that we touched,
Can you think of it
The way I dream of it,
I want you to see like I'm seeing you
It's a picture of perfection,
The vision of you and me
He walks blindly, mind filled with half-finished thoughts on the dream he'd just had. Vividly, he could still feel the hungry, prying fingertips traveling over him, exploring each and every crevice and indentation. The heavy, hot breath against his neck; the softly whispered words.
He sighs, leaning against the wall. He can't live like this. Every dream that he witnesses, the more he needs it. The more real it becomes. So hungry, so needing. It's a constant hunger in the bowels of his mind. A longing.
Dreams can barely begin to describe the sensation of seeing that cool, silky flesh; the silver eyes, calm and relaxed; white-blonde hair, warm candlelight reflecting off it in pinpoints of light. It's like gazing upon a fallen angel… or a risen demon. Both are correct and hardly close to the truth.
Can you just picture this
Your fingertips on my fingertips
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin
Would be the Sweetest Sin
He can see him visibly from where he stands; the same refined aristocratic posture, same lithe form hugged by sleek black robes, same beautiful silver eyes narrowed but calm. He knows every little detail of that body; that face. He knows what each subtle change meant; when he was angry, annoyed, or amused.
His pitch green eyes flash dangerously, a warm desire glowing from their depths. A small smile flutters casually across his obsession's features and something, almost imperceivable, breaks, shatters, falls to the ground and crashes, inside him. He moans unconsciously, back pressed against the wall, as people rush by unknowingly. He blinks, realizing dimly that tears are rising in his eyes. He narrows his eyes, ignoring their dampness and starts forward.
Cause it's to much to take
Dreamin' about the love that we could make, All day,
I think of scenes
To get you next to me,
I want you so bad that I can barely breathe
It's a sign of my obsession,
That I can't stop thinkin' bout'
When his body stops moving, walking, he is so close he can feel the heat radiating the familiar body. He shivers. Cool gray eyes turn to him suddenly, narrowed slightly in what he knows is curiosity. They bear into him, sending torrents of icy waves across his nerves, washing up on the dirty shores of his mind. He takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles. He smiles as if it comes naturally, standing here.
"What do you want, Potter?"
He runs his tongue across his lower lip, almost nervously, anxiously, but his smile broadens considerably. He leans in, voice low and seductive, lips almost making contact with the creamy flesh of the cheek bone. "You know what I want."
It's so simple. So relieving. So deliciously tormenting. It's almost painful, being so close and not being able to run his fingers across the smooth, flawless skin. His luscious green eyes are narrowed to slits, gleaming with lust. Oh, lust is such a pretty thing.
Can you envision this
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That would be the Sweetest Sin
Surprise(?), fear(?) flashes through the silver eyes, so quickly and suddenly one would believe it was just a figment of their imagination. Maybe it is the raw emotion in the serpentine eyes, or the confidence in which he approached, face without doubt or uncertainty. But there is a very subtle caution and fear. Of course, it is masked easily; covered and cloaked by a calm, logical façade.
"Aren't I a little dangerous for you to be hanging around, Potter? Wouldn't want precious Potter getting…hurt, would we?"
He smiles at these words. "Assumption's so dangerous. It wouldn't be wise for you to throw it about like that." He smirks, cupping a hand around the pale face. The contact makes his fingertips burn; his body aching for more closure. He sighs softly, almost sorrowfully. "Oh, you've no idea how much I've wanted to touch you."
To be so bad
You don't know how bad, I want that,
I would do anything to feel your love
The silvery irises glance down at the hand, another subtle change from fear to confusion. Neither realize people have stopped to watch this bizarre exchange. Whispers flutter about softly, never meeting their ears.
Something clicks, inaudibly, like the repetition of a working clock. Green and silver melt against each other, melding; burning lights slipping into one another. Something is understood, comprehended, realized. Something bad. Something dangerous. Something delicious and sinful and devouring.
It has yet to be spoken.
"I want to own you."
Until now. There is no shock or surprise in either set of eyes. The observers mutter to one another. Then, lips meet, a contrast of electricity midst the contact. A collective gasp hovers around like a ghost. It is no simple kiss like in a romantic picture, a movie; it is hungry and needy. Blood appears between the compressed flesh, from whom, no one can tell.
Can you just picture this
Your finger tips on my finger tips,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
That Would be the Sweetest Sin
An unspoken revelation is made. A fear commences through dozens of pairs of eyes. A dawning recognition of the terror they will face surfaces in a hundred minds at once.
They notice none of this. The sweet taste of each other's mouths swallow their senses and they are unaware of the voices spinning around them like a verbal top, drifting and drifting with no sign of stopping. They draw away, expressionless, eyes hard but wonderfully warm with want.
Now, they face the sets of eyes fixated upon their forms, fearful and nervous, shocked and stunned. They smile calm smiles, cruel and amused like those of the jester on the muggle "Jokawild" poster. They glance at each other and turn away, eerily silent and devoid of emotion.
Can you envision this
Temptation that I could never resist,
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the Sweetest Sin,
Would be the Sweetest Sin
They walk away, slowly, not even looking at each other. The crowd files in behind them, watching with terrified, wide eyes. What was to become of them?
The pair disappeared around the corner and many of the crowd believes they hear a distant cold laughter echoing off the stone walls. But maybe it is just imagination. …Maybe.
Author's Notes: I reposted this solely because I wanted to test my HTML program to see if it worked. I chose this one randomly. Oh well, if you hadn't already reviewed the first time I posted this, review!