A bunny that bite me, rather sharply, as I was driving to the mall today.
Thought I might share with you.
Many thanks to durendal for her beta work!
-Rach
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He's perched on a very art deco black stool, the kind you find in the clubs that charged seven dollars for a beer. His thick, black rimmed glasses, a style that suddenly became popular and invaded the faces of sensible people who would have otherwise preferred contacts, but for the sake of fashion are now wearing glasses, frame his face. No one here knows that he's worn those glasses since we were children. Sometimes he doesn't even take them off when we make love.
I snuck into the dark coffee shop as he was singing in the deep and sultry voice I know too well. The small marquee near the door just says Harry, and I chuckle when I realize that even if he'd used his full name, no one in this world would recognize him for anything more than a struggling songwriter.
He finishes the song to a smattering of applause, and smiles sheepishly as his audience. I've ducked behind a rather large man who's at the show with his wife, and looks none to pleased about it. Harry doesn't know I came tonight. I was flipping through his appointment book last week while he was taking a shower and saw this peculiar date: Thursday, seven p.m., and the address of a bookshop a few blocks from our flat. He told me that he was working late tonight. I peer over the shoulder of my blockade to see him nervously brush some stay locks behind his ears and begin to strum what he announces to be his final song. His guitar looks very unusual, an acoustic with a gold shimmering insignia. If I squint I can see it spells out "Firebolt."
The melody that's coming from his long fingers is slightly upbeat, and he strums with short choppy beats. It's repetitive and catchy. It's a love song. His words wash over my ears and my arms and my heart.
"We got the afternoon; you got this room for two, one thing I've left to do….Discover me discovering you."
He closes his eyes as he sings and taps his foot gently on the final rung of the stool. There are girls in the front row, mouths slack and obviously enamored with Harry.
"One mile to every inch of your skin like porcelain…"
He always makes fun of my complexion, calls me "ghost boy" because I don't tan well. And I call him "scar face". It's all in good fun, because at night, when the lights are out and blankets pulled back to our ankles, I'll trace lines over the lighting bolt on his soft forehead and he'll run his tongue down behind my ear, just so he can hear me gasp his name.
"And if you want love, we'll make it. Swimming a deep sea of blankets. Take all your big plans and break 'em. This is bound to be a while. Your body is a wonderland"
He's singing with all his might now, with his face screwed up in the way that makes me remember our school days. How he would shake so violently at me when I taunted him. It would come to spells sometimes, or just harsh words without any particular magic behind them. And after it was all over we came back to each other again and we realized that the words weren't necessary, we could relate much better with our hands, and the words would come soon enough.
"Damn, baby, you frustrate me. I know you're mine, all mine, all mine. But you look so good it hurts sometimes"
He sings out the last verse, and ends to a standing ovation. He's blushing, never being one for attention. But he's more receptive to this kind, the kind he's earned through his soul, and not because his mother sacrificed herself when he was still in diapers. The crowd begins to dissipate and the giggling girls in the front row are shifting nervously on the balls of their feet, waiting for an autograph. My diversion has moved, his wife is heading towards the exit. Harry's back is to me, and I figure that I should put on a little show of my own, crush the dreams of all girls patiently waiting for a smile from him. I creep up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and lick the inside of his ear, very territorial.
He snaps backwards and just as the inkling of recognition spark in his eyes I capture his mouth in mine and devour him. When we pull back, he looks a little angry.
"Draco, what are you doing here?"
"I love you, Harry."
The girls are blushing and Harry's blushing. Having done my job, I saunter away, Apparate back to the flat, and wait for him in our bedroom.
He's mine, all mine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: The lyrics belong to John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland"
Many thanks to durendal for her beta work!
-Rach
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He's perched on a very art deco black stool, the kind you find in the clubs that charged seven dollars for a beer. His thick, black rimmed glasses, a style that suddenly became popular and invaded the faces of sensible people who would have otherwise preferred contacts, but for the sake of fashion are now wearing glasses, frame his face. No one here knows that he's worn those glasses since we were children. Sometimes he doesn't even take them off when we make love.
I snuck into the dark coffee shop as he was singing in the deep and sultry voice I know too well. The small marquee near the door just says Harry, and I chuckle when I realize that even if he'd used his full name, no one in this world would recognize him for anything more than a struggling songwriter.
He finishes the song to a smattering of applause, and smiles sheepishly as his audience. I've ducked behind a rather large man who's at the show with his wife, and looks none to pleased about it. Harry doesn't know I came tonight. I was flipping through his appointment book last week while he was taking a shower and saw this peculiar date: Thursday, seven p.m., and the address of a bookshop a few blocks from our flat. He told me that he was working late tonight. I peer over the shoulder of my blockade to see him nervously brush some stay locks behind his ears and begin to strum what he announces to be his final song. His guitar looks very unusual, an acoustic with a gold shimmering insignia. If I squint I can see it spells out "Firebolt."
The melody that's coming from his long fingers is slightly upbeat, and he strums with short choppy beats. It's repetitive and catchy. It's a love song. His words wash over my ears and my arms and my heart.
"We got the afternoon; you got this room for two, one thing I've left to do….Discover me discovering you."
He closes his eyes as he sings and taps his foot gently on the final rung of the stool. There are girls in the front row, mouths slack and obviously enamored with Harry.
"One mile to every inch of your skin like porcelain…"
He always makes fun of my complexion, calls me "ghost boy" because I don't tan well. And I call him "scar face". It's all in good fun, because at night, when the lights are out and blankets pulled back to our ankles, I'll trace lines over the lighting bolt on his soft forehead and he'll run his tongue down behind my ear, just so he can hear me gasp his name.
"And if you want love, we'll make it. Swimming a deep sea of blankets. Take all your big plans and break 'em. This is bound to be a while. Your body is a wonderland"
He's singing with all his might now, with his face screwed up in the way that makes me remember our school days. How he would shake so violently at me when I taunted him. It would come to spells sometimes, or just harsh words without any particular magic behind them. And after it was all over we came back to each other again and we realized that the words weren't necessary, we could relate much better with our hands, and the words would come soon enough.
"Damn, baby, you frustrate me. I know you're mine, all mine, all mine. But you look so good it hurts sometimes"
He sings out the last verse, and ends to a standing ovation. He's blushing, never being one for attention. But he's more receptive to this kind, the kind he's earned through his soul, and not because his mother sacrificed herself when he was still in diapers. The crowd begins to dissipate and the giggling girls in the front row are shifting nervously on the balls of their feet, waiting for an autograph. My diversion has moved, his wife is heading towards the exit. Harry's back is to me, and I figure that I should put on a little show of my own, crush the dreams of all girls patiently waiting for a smile from him. I creep up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and lick the inside of his ear, very territorial.
He snaps backwards and just as the inkling of recognition spark in his eyes I capture his mouth in mine and devour him. When we pull back, he looks a little angry.
"Draco, what are you doing here?"
"I love you, Harry."
The girls are blushing and Harry's blushing. Having done my job, I saunter away, Apparate back to the flat, and wait for him in our bedroom.
He's mine, all mine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: The lyrics belong to John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland"