A/N: So.. this was actually done on the Mac so editing was a lot longer. I was just laying about and then BAM, so expect more stories to come, I have three others to type up and edit. The song that was so inspirational: When I'm Small by Phantogram.

So without further ado.

/ |||| Dreaming of Sleep |||| \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

And you can imagine him now, as you lay there, dying and stare into green.

You can feel his knees squeezing your ribs; can imagine the green and yellow marks that will be there tomorrow.

You can feel the sliding of that green eyed monster as he moves, smooth and not so clumsy as you had always thought, as he moves up and down; so smooth.

Can think to the taste of his moans that slipped past chapped lips; the more common whimpers gasping into the air.

He was young, far younger than you should have part took in really, and you could imagine all the others who would hope and dream to be underneath the boy wonder, as you were in that moment.

They would gush on about how handsome the boy savior was, you would be hard pressed to disagree, but there was something about the boy that they didn't see.

As you peered up at the youth in your lap, gasping and shivering as he moved; up, up, and down swiftly, you saw something no one seemed to see.

He was not the cliche prince charming, not some knight riding to save the day; though riding he was at the time.

No, this boy was just that, a child in war. His body almost too thin, his jaw strong and cheeks high; he was an average sort of lad, if times were normal, peace to say, and he was just any other, no one would look twice.

But here in this room you suppose the boy found safety, where he could be normal, could be 'just Harry'.

You would not say the boy was stunning, he wasn't, not really, not in looks, but his personality was honey to flies. His daunting sarcasm pulling sneers out of the younger Malfoy, had Aurors of the order snickering, had Albus twinkling; you think for a second how perverse it is to think of Albus while in such an act. The truly only stunning thing about the boy was his eyes, even brighter than his mothers.

But your mind is pulled away, your knees bend and heels dig into the sheets and mattress and you arch and thrust up, making little gasps come loudly from this green eyed youth, pulling them from him, dragging them out as you turn and pull that youth under yourself and push; sending this boy-who-lived over his edge to shatter when he fell; and soon you too, fell with him.

You can imagine the gasps for air, the groaning as you begin to move, to pull away from the boy, but are stopped, are pulled closer to him.

You can imagine the time spent laying still, and connected.

Can imagine the time in silence as a safe house; no one could touch you both, not here, no one would think to find you two here.

The boy because who did he hate most other than his potions master, and you because who did you detest more than James Potter's only carbon copy?

But you lay in silence all the same; holding, clutching closely and tightly.

You can still remember laying your head on the boys shoulder, can remember tucking your face into his neck, can remember the smell of rain and mint.

Can remember the warmth as you held the boys shoulder in your hands; his arms tucked close to his ribs and arms wrapped over his back.

You can remember waking to fingers sliding over your back, can remember the feel of lips on your shoulder.

Can remember the almost giggle from the still sleep addled boy as you moved lower as you kissed the boys shoulder and chest and ribs, and lower; always close and warm and lower and 'please', s' dragging in pleasure.

You can remember going slow, always slow in the mornings, no rush, no pushing forces of emergency; always slow and steady and warm.

You can think of a million things really, that were special about the boy; can list them alphabetically, and chronologically.

You can think of a million reasons to stop seeing him, you can list those too.

You can think of a million reasons to continue, can think of a million excuses even if you couldn't be allowed to enjoy more than simple glances.

You can think of a million things that this boys mother would say if she could, a million things you would suffer if the boys father and godfather were still living.

You could think of millions of things that could go wrong, or right; you can think of the others that are better suited for the boy, make him happier.

Your a selfish man though; selfish and bitter and tainted and dark.

You can think of no one who could give the pleasure that you give him with a simple smile, or sneer, or wink.

You can remember not loving, not being loved beyond your mother, than not being loved beyond lily's simple presence; this however was a new love, the kind one kills and dies for.

So here you are, blood spilling and spreading; you can feel the warmth seeping into your clothes and out of your body.

And you can imagine that you were just laying in bed, next to this boy savior, much like you were when you were last together, holding his hand and looking into his eyes.

You can imagine that the boys tears are from laughter and not sorrow, can imagine that you are only finally, falling to sleep.

You can think back to when it had all started, with stuttering and hesitant touches on both your parts; almost like the single drop of poison into milk.

You can remember beyond the cold dark room where you lay now; past dust and destruction, that was the decrepit room.

You can imagine being back in your chambers, tucked away from the death that follows you so; can only leave the information you are meant to leave before sleeping the kind of sleep that makes you rest for eternity and wakes you refreshed.

So you kiss lips so hot compared to your own, kiss cheeks and hands and fingers, a smiles before you sleep.

You would see each other when you wake; of this you are sure, you only have to wait patiently, but that you could do.

You just wait, remembering gasps and whimpers and giggles and warmth; remembering the soreness, the phantom twinge in your ribs as you stretch and move your arms.

You could wait, for this sleep to lift, you could wait.