This is a Draco/Harry fic, slash, sexual implications, don't like, don't read. The song is country, don't know who sings it. If you could tell me, I'd be very happy.
Don't Close Your Eyes
***
Don't close your eyes.
Let it be me.
Don't pretend it's him
In some fantasy.
Darling, just once
Let yesterday go.
And you'll find more love
Than you've ever known.
Just hold me tight
When you love me tonight
And don't close your eyes.
***
Oh damn him. Look at him, closing his eyes, pretending the one loving him is Ron Weasley. Yes, I'm jealous. Who ever thought I'd one day be jealous of a Weasley. Certainly not me. Why am I jealous? Because he has Harry Potter's heart.
You see, I have a lover. Harry Potter. That's right, my lover is Harry Potter. My lover. But his heart belongs to a liberally straight person, Ronald Weasley. Now, Weasley only likes Harry as a friend and is in love with Hermione Granger. And as I've mentioned, he's straight so he wouldn't love Harry even if he didn't like Granger.
When Harry realized his love was unrequited, he was desperate for some one to fill that hole in his heart. Naturally, I was there. This was my chance. I had wanted him for so long. So now, Weasley had practically driven him into my arms.
But Harry loved him still after all my efforts to win his heart.
It's funny, really, how human nature drives a person to want to possess something he can never have. I can never have his heart.
Yes, I love him. I love everything about him, from the way he's ticklish at his sides to the way he lays with half-closed eyes in my arms after we fuck. I love his emerald eyes, the way they sparkle when he's happy and glisten with unshed tears when he's sad. I love the way his long-fingered hand fits perfectly into mine. I love his scar, strange as it may be, because it is his trademark.
And I love the way he's the complete opposite of me. He has jet black hair to my silver-blond. He has tan skin to my pale complexion. And he's so innocent. No matter what happens he will always be innocent. It's doesn't matter how many times You-Know-Who attacks or how many times we fuck. He will always be innocent.
Back to the matter at hand. I glare at him, though he can't see me, as his eyes are closed. Silently, I will him to open his eyes and look at me and see me in front of him, not Weasley.
Because damn it, I'm the one in front of him, or rather, on top of him. It's my hands running over his body, my lips caressing his. I'm the one making love to him, not Weasley. Me. I'm the one in love with him. He must be blind not to see it.
This reminds me of a book I read when I was about 11 by a witch named Margaret Mitchell. It's called 'Gone With the Wind.' No, it's not a Muggle book. Did you think a she was a Muggle? Of course not. All good "Muggle" authors are actually wizards or witches. Did you think a Muggle could write so well? In 'Gone With the Wind,' the main character, Scarlett O'Hara is loved by Rhett Butler, but she loves Ashley Wilkes. Or so she believes. Whenever Rhett makes love to her, she thinks of Ashley instead. I always loved that book. How ironic it is that it has turned into the story of my life. And I hate my life. But I digress.
I move away from him, that is, off of him and sit up. My legs dangle over the edge of the large bed and white-knuckled hands grip the cotton sheets on either side of me. I'm tired, both physically and mentally and I catch my breath slowly.
I hear Harry breathe deeply and slowly and the bed shifts as he props himself up on his elbow and asks softly, "What's the matter, Draco?"
There's silence for a moment before I turn my head and ask, "Do you really want to know?"
He nods.
I hesitate before saying, "What's the matter is that you-- you think of Weasley when you're with me. You dream of him when you lie in my arms. And you love him while I-- I..." My voice falters and dies out as I come close to revealing how I truly feel.
He slips off the bed carefully and sits down on the floor at my knee. He lays his hand, then his head on my knee and looks at me with those luminous eyes, now deprived of glasses. "Draco, I don't love Ron." At my surprised look, he goes on, "I did when I started with you, yes... but not now. After those first few times with you, I gradually stopped loving him... and after I knew you better from those talks after... you know... I started liking you. And I... feel... a lot toward you now. I might even say it's... you know..."
I raise an eyebrow at this and say almost tauntingly, "No, I don't know. Please, do tell."
"Well, umm... I..."
I laugh at him, silently at first and then louder. "Oh God, you don't have to tell me."
He smiles and asks, "But you know what I mean, right?"
"Yeah, I know." I slide down next to him and he lays his head on my bare shoulder. "Oh, and me too."
He just looks at me with those eyes. And then he kisses me... Somehow, we're on the bed again though I can't remember how we got here. Must be those intoxicating lips. They dull your mind. And his hands are running all over me... and his hoarse voice asks, "You've never done it the other way around, have you?"
I shake my head and add, "But everyone knows I'm the dominant. You're just... not."
He grins mischievously and asks, "You wanna try?"
I shrug. "Sure." Soon, he's inside of me. And it's at times like these that I swear he's psychic. Some how he must've known my little qualm about his eyes being closed, because both our eyes are wide open. His brilliant eyes stare into me and I do believe he can see into my soul. If I died at this very moment, I'd die happy. Because those beautiful eyes are wide open. And I know they see me.
That thought overwhelms me. Everything about him does. But especially those eyes that see me. And only me.
*End* Wow, that was sappy. Read and Review and I will love you forever. See you soon at the posting of the final part of "Just to See Him Smile" on July 30.
Misty Shinigami
Don't Close Your Eyes
***
Don't close your eyes.
Let it be me.
Don't pretend it's him
In some fantasy.
Darling, just once
Let yesterday go.
And you'll find more love
Than you've ever known.
Just hold me tight
When you love me tonight
And don't close your eyes.
***
Oh damn him. Look at him, closing his eyes, pretending the one loving him is Ron Weasley. Yes, I'm jealous. Who ever thought I'd one day be jealous of a Weasley. Certainly not me. Why am I jealous? Because he has Harry Potter's heart.
You see, I have a lover. Harry Potter. That's right, my lover is Harry Potter. My lover. But his heart belongs to a liberally straight person, Ronald Weasley. Now, Weasley only likes Harry as a friend and is in love with Hermione Granger. And as I've mentioned, he's straight so he wouldn't love Harry even if he didn't like Granger.
When Harry realized his love was unrequited, he was desperate for some one to fill that hole in his heart. Naturally, I was there. This was my chance. I had wanted him for so long. So now, Weasley had practically driven him into my arms.
But Harry loved him still after all my efforts to win his heart.
It's funny, really, how human nature drives a person to want to possess something he can never have. I can never have his heart.
Yes, I love him. I love everything about him, from the way he's ticklish at his sides to the way he lays with half-closed eyes in my arms after we fuck. I love his emerald eyes, the way they sparkle when he's happy and glisten with unshed tears when he's sad. I love the way his long-fingered hand fits perfectly into mine. I love his scar, strange as it may be, because it is his trademark.
And I love the way he's the complete opposite of me. He has jet black hair to my silver-blond. He has tan skin to my pale complexion. And he's so innocent. No matter what happens he will always be innocent. It's doesn't matter how many times You-Know-Who attacks or how many times we fuck. He will always be innocent.
Back to the matter at hand. I glare at him, though he can't see me, as his eyes are closed. Silently, I will him to open his eyes and look at me and see me in front of him, not Weasley.
Because damn it, I'm the one in front of him, or rather, on top of him. It's my hands running over his body, my lips caressing his. I'm the one making love to him, not Weasley. Me. I'm the one in love with him. He must be blind not to see it.
This reminds me of a book I read when I was about 11 by a witch named Margaret Mitchell. It's called 'Gone With the Wind.' No, it's not a Muggle book. Did you think a she was a Muggle? Of course not. All good "Muggle" authors are actually wizards or witches. Did you think a Muggle could write so well? In 'Gone With the Wind,' the main character, Scarlett O'Hara is loved by Rhett Butler, but she loves Ashley Wilkes. Or so she believes. Whenever Rhett makes love to her, she thinks of Ashley instead. I always loved that book. How ironic it is that it has turned into the story of my life. And I hate my life. But I digress.
I move away from him, that is, off of him and sit up. My legs dangle over the edge of the large bed and white-knuckled hands grip the cotton sheets on either side of me. I'm tired, both physically and mentally and I catch my breath slowly.
I hear Harry breathe deeply and slowly and the bed shifts as he props himself up on his elbow and asks softly, "What's the matter, Draco?"
There's silence for a moment before I turn my head and ask, "Do you really want to know?"
He nods.
I hesitate before saying, "What's the matter is that you-- you think of Weasley when you're with me. You dream of him when you lie in my arms. And you love him while I-- I..." My voice falters and dies out as I come close to revealing how I truly feel.
He slips off the bed carefully and sits down on the floor at my knee. He lays his hand, then his head on my knee and looks at me with those luminous eyes, now deprived of glasses. "Draco, I don't love Ron." At my surprised look, he goes on, "I did when I started with you, yes... but not now. After those first few times with you, I gradually stopped loving him... and after I knew you better from those talks after... you know... I started liking you. And I... feel... a lot toward you now. I might even say it's... you know..."
I raise an eyebrow at this and say almost tauntingly, "No, I don't know. Please, do tell."
"Well, umm... I..."
I laugh at him, silently at first and then louder. "Oh God, you don't have to tell me."
He smiles and asks, "But you know what I mean, right?"
"Yeah, I know." I slide down next to him and he lays his head on my bare shoulder. "Oh, and me too."
He just looks at me with those eyes. And then he kisses me... Somehow, we're on the bed again though I can't remember how we got here. Must be those intoxicating lips. They dull your mind. And his hands are running all over me... and his hoarse voice asks, "You've never done it the other way around, have you?"
I shake my head and add, "But everyone knows I'm the dominant. You're just... not."
He grins mischievously and asks, "You wanna try?"
I shrug. "Sure." Soon, he's inside of me. And it's at times like these that I swear he's psychic. Some how he must've known my little qualm about his eyes being closed, because both our eyes are wide open. His brilliant eyes stare into me and I do believe he can see into my soul. If I died at this very moment, I'd die happy. Because those beautiful eyes are wide open. And I know they see me.
That thought overwhelms me. Everything about him does. But especially those eyes that see me. And only me.
*End* Wow, that was sappy. Read and Review and I will love you forever. See you soon at the posting of the final part of "Just to See Him Smile" on July 30.
Misty Shinigami