Title: The Thin Line
Author: Clandestiny
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement
intended.
Warning: Slashy implications. Of course.
Pairing: Implied Draco/Harry
Archive: Yes, just tell me where.
Feedback: Yes, please. I'd love to know how I did.
Note: My first posted ficlet. I'd appreciate it if you tell me what you think. The idea came to me last night, around 10:00, and I couldn't fall asleep until 4:30 because I was musing over it so much. I finally had to sit and type it out.


I love you because you make me melt.

A figurine, carved of ice and infused with life. That's what I was. The words from my
lips could freeze flame, while my eyes burned ruthlessly. Then, I became wrapped up in your splendor. I melted, and the rivers of water doused the flame.

I love the way you taste. I love the way the sweat from the hollow of your neck has a
different savour than the sweat in the curve of your ear, a different savour than the sweat of your torso. I lick my lips, and imagine that I can taste you there.

I love the way you sound. I love the way you used to insult me, because there was always a tremor of want behind it. I'm not egotistical, but I love that you always wanted me. I love the mewls that you make when I touch you, the whispers of encouragement, and the way, in the early days, you used to taunt me to climax. Your words still echo.

I love the way you look. I love the way you can be cute without trying and sexy with
minimal effort. I love your body's contrast, the shock of black hair against your slightly tanned skin. I see you when I close my eyes.

I love the way you smell. You're different every time. Sometimes you smell like rain,
returning to the castle with dripping robes. Sometimes you smell like trees, earthy and genuine and perfect. Sometimes you smell like sex. I like it best when you smell like sex.

I love the way you feel. I love touching you and sliding my hands along your warm flesh, smooth and inviting and so uniquely you. Your entire body is contrast, from the softness of your lips to the firmness of your stomach to your calloused, Quidditch-toughened hands. I rub my hands together and imagine your texture, but nothing compares.

I still remember the nights that I lay curled up in your arms, the Mark shining in sharp
relief on my arm. I remember you murmuring promises, promises that no one would ever reveal me as a spy, no one would ever find out that I'd signed my life away for a tattoo, not as long as you're protecting me, holding me, loving me.

As I recall that memory, my face contorts in anger. Your taste sours on my tongue. Your voice turns to fingernails, scratching on the chalkboard of the Potions classroom. Your image clouds in my mind as I imagine it through impending tears. Your scent fades until I can imagine it away. I can't feel you anymore.

I press my face into the pillow and scream curses to you, on you. As much as I don't want tears to fall, they do.

I hear the soft whisper of fabric as the Dementor sweeps past my cell, off to taint the
memories of another.

As I cry, I hate you, Harry Potter, because you make me melt.

-Fin-