Title: Mistletoe Sting
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or an of the characters or the song so sue me not for I have little except for this mind in my head.
Pairings: Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe
Author's Note: …Auto-bean, all YOUR FAULT. 3
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I can't move…"
"What do you mean?"
"..I'm stuck."
One frowns, perplexed. "You just blinked at me."
"I know. I can do that. I'm talking right now, aren't I?"
A pause as the other took a moment to consider the question over before nodding in agreement.
"I can't move my feet. Everything else works fine" He demonstrated by raising his arms into the air briefly and waving them around as if that proved that the rest of him was in perfect order.
"Oh…Why?"
"If I knew I would undo…it.. and keep walking.."
"..I'm sorry.." His head drooped slightly.
"S'not your fault."
"Still. One of the others would know how to…fix you."
"You're still better company."
"That looks like the plants Blaise was carrying about.." Absently.
"Hm?"
"There, up above your head."
They both looked up, at the decoration that was tacked to the ceiling.
"Maybe that's it."
"It?"
"What's keeping me here."
"…then you need to."
"That's what Blaise said."
"Oh. …Should I try find another person?"
"They probably wouldn't…"
"So…should I?"
"If you don't mind.."
And his lips are dry and awkward, clumsy and light and vaguely sweet as he presses them against his before pulling away before the moment is over.
He's breathless and red and staring at the ground, which he has never done to him before, and no, he doesn't like that part because they should always be able to meet each others' eyes.
"Did it work, can you move?"
He almost doesn't want to find out. It would end this, though he doubts there would be an encore if they're successful or not. Failure would be worse. So he cautiously steps forward, closer.
"…looks like it."
A relieved, uncontainable smile.
There's the temptation to step back now, to get caught again because, considering who he is, that might actually have happened on its own…but he can't bring himself to do it. Everyone else is always fooling them already and if he did it to him it would be going too far.
"Thanks…"
"Glad to have been able to help."
Both are honest and sincere, neither wants to leave just quite yet but there's no reason to linger.
"It was nice." Quietly, quickly, stumbling over the words.
"…what?"
"You know, the kiss.. Just saying, so you…" Trailing off before he can say 'know' again.
"I..uh…thanks."
What has he started? They're both at a loss for words and it's impossible to tell where to go and silence isn't golden right now, it's gaudy and taunting and questions if perhaps the pair will walk away…separately.
"It'll be good…for when you get a girl or something."
And suddenly he's unhappy. The idea isn't appealing and he de doesn't want to share, his middle is burning and his throat is stuffed and it's like he's five and no, no, no, no one else can have it but him.
Crabbe looks a little frightened.
But he doesn't own him and the harsh fingers say share.
"Sorry…I'm…I don't know."
"It's like before?"
"This?"
"Yes, but you haven't got it yet."
"No.."
"I think…"
"What/"
"Maybe…maybe I won't with others."
Goyle looks miserably bewildered.
"Would that make you happy?"
Silence.
"I think I've lost it."
"Me to."
"I'm fine as long we don't lose each other."
A little nod of agreement.
Fin