Last year it was The Official Unwritten Slash Month, this year it's the Official Challenge Month. The similarities? A month of fics by one author. The difference? This time, YOU are in control.
Each fic will be written based on a challenge. This can be any type of challenge, from a single word to a full-blown challenge. The rules are simple, they must be Harry Potter and they must be slash. So get involved, get reviewing and together we'll make November the Challenge Month.
(Challenges can be submitted via Reviews, or, preferably, emails until the Fanfiction messages service starts to work. If your submission is anonymous, please leave an email address so I can contact you if I chose to write your fic, this address will also be kept private.)
Challenge: He watches me, from annonymous.
He watches me
He watches me. He does it constantly, so often I think he almost doesn't notice. In the Common Room, at dinner, in class. Nobody else has noticed, I don't think. You wouldn't unless you were close to him, and James is too busy watching Lily to care about who's watching me. I hate to sound cruel, but unless it's covered in sugar or gravy, Peter wouldn't notice anything either. So it's just me, I'm the only one who's noticed.
I thought I was imagining it the first time. I was sitting across from him, the sausages were between us. Maybe he was contemplating eating them. Maybe he was staring into space. Maybe I had something on my nose...
After a while, I began to notice his stares. It became almost a game, for a while, trying to find out how many times a day on average. The answer was a scary amount. I became very attuned to him, until I could tell he was watching me even with my back turned, could feel the stares burning into my skin, searing right through and seeing into my soul.
I wondered why he did it, why he'd watch me. I wanted desperately to know, but I couldn't ask. I was too scared, at first of what his answer would be. Later I was terrified of him finding out my reaction to his watching.
It was the times he'd watch while I was getting changed that were the worst. I'd be tugging my clothes on, or stripping down to go to bed, and I'd feel that eerie sensation of his eyes on me. I always shut my curtains tightly, but at night I'd masturbate, alone in my chamber imagining his eyes on me, imagining him watching this most intimate of acts. I began to slip, just a little, leaving the barest sliver of my curtains open. I wondered if he'd notice, and the thrill of not knowing if he did notice, if he was actually watching me masturbate, sleep, was enough to have me explode with the first touch.
He watches me. I started it, I think, watching him eating at the breakfast table, he's so refined, cultured when he eats. It makes me furious to think those manner were probably beaten into him at an age when other children still use spoons and make pictures out of their food. I hate to admit it, but the manners are good for him, he looks exquisite while eating, and the pleasure that he always seems to get from his food is extraordinary. The pleasure he gets from everything really.
I was covert, ensuring that no one would notice when my gaze would linger on him a little longer. I loved watching him, loved watching the passion he had for everything. I loved it when he'd be studying, concentrating hard on his work even though he'd pretend to everyone that he passed his exams through dumb luck. I loved watching him in Binn's class, it was one of my favourite times, watching him doze lightly, so vulnerable and innocent. He looked a lot like the angels I used to imagine would rescue me from the evilness of my curse when I was small. In a way, he truly was that angel, his efforts to make me feel better, and later to become and animagus for me did save me from the curse in a way.
I guess I loved him, but it was more of an abstract than an actuality. When I spoke to him, when I hung out with him and the others, I made sure to push any feelings for him into a compartment and behaving just like a friend would. My only indulgence was watching him, and I indulged a lot.
The change in his was shocking to me. One day I was watching him innocently doodling, the next I was watching him flicker covert glances in my direction. I couldn't work out for a long while why it was he watched me. I hadn't dared to hope it was because of the same reason I was watching him. I found myself watching him more often, to see when and why he'd watch me. I found myself watching him when he'd get changed sometimes, and the idea that, when he slipped between his bed sheets, he would be naked, would keep me up for some time.
The first time he left his curtains open, I didn't notice until I was getting up to go to the toilet at night. I found myself watching him, breathlessly, as he slept that night. I couldn't see much through the small slit, but it was enough.
The next night, I was in bed first. When I heard him climb into his bed, I watched covertly. I had expected it to have been a fluke, so when I saw him carefully slide the curtain across and stop with a small gap – bigger than the previous night – I had to stifle my gasp. I had to stifle several more that night as he masturbated there, exposed to my eyes, before rolling over and sleeping, head facing my bed.
I wondered what he was playing at. He must have known I was watching him, there was no way he couldn't know if I could tell when I watched him. He also knew that I always left a gap, so I could see the moon in the window behind his bed. I refused to believe it the first night, but after several days, I began to realise that it was true. He was exposing himself purposefully to my gaze.
It took me a further three days to work up the courage, but one night, as he masturbated silently for me and James and Peter slept on unaware, I crept across to his bed and slid between the ever widening gap. I just sat on the edge of his bed, watching avidly as he came for me, his grey eyes caught on mine before orgasm forced them to close.
I found my attention drawn to his come-soaked hand, and I drew it carefully, slowly to my lips, licking the come off carefully. I hadn't expected his moan, the pleasure he found in my actions. I did anticipate the kiss he pulled me into, however, and when I sank into sleep that night, my view of his angelic face was unhindered by the curtains.