we prowl through the streets at night, laughing and biting and stalking
each other.
it took all my best efforts before i could convince draco to go to a muggle dance club; now i can't keep him out of them. he drags me along with him every time, saying he can't go without me because if he goes alone he'll be mobbed; i can't quite disagree with him. he is so damned beautiful. so fragile-looking, so apparently defenceless and just asking with every movement to be adored. i'd hate to think of him alone in a crowd, even with his wand…and then of course it's hard to explain carrying a wand to muggles…so i go with him. every time.
i can rarely get him to wear anything but black, but i can't really complain…he looks so good in it. and he knows it.
he usually dresses me; i'm a dork and i know that. but i have my moments. as he's sure to let me know.
he likes best to dress us both in black and silver, and watch heads turn as we pass, perfect opposites, a perfect matched pair. we cut through the crowd leaving fascination in our wake.
we move in unison and in harmony, liquid and alluring, untouchable; it almost feels unfair, to expose this part of us to the rest of the world. how could they possibly compete?
my favourite part of it all is afterwards, when we've left reeking of cigarettes and that unmistakable club smell; when we stumble drunkenly at first, each holding the other up on legs trembly-weak from dancing, then slowly catch our wind again. he always goes predatory first; i can sense it, the slight narrowing of his eyes, a tensing of his muscles, then he pounces. if i let him. i usually do…it's so satisfying to be caught. but after a moment i can't bear it and break away to become as feline and fierce as he is, and we chase each other and bite and struggle briefly and kiss and start it all over again. we tangle on the sidewalks and disengage and weave crazily towards each other again.
my favourite part of it all is afterwards. when we're twining and stalking and loving each other so uninhibitedly. i never want it to end.
please never let this end.
it took all my best efforts before i could convince draco to go to a muggle dance club; now i can't keep him out of them. he drags me along with him every time, saying he can't go without me because if he goes alone he'll be mobbed; i can't quite disagree with him. he is so damned beautiful. so fragile-looking, so apparently defenceless and just asking with every movement to be adored. i'd hate to think of him alone in a crowd, even with his wand…and then of course it's hard to explain carrying a wand to muggles…so i go with him. every time.
i can rarely get him to wear anything but black, but i can't really complain…he looks so good in it. and he knows it.
he usually dresses me; i'm a dork and i know that. but i have my moments. as he's sure to let me know.
he likes best to dress us both in black and silver, and watch heads turn as we pass, perfect opposites, a perfect matched pair. we cut through the crowd leaving fascination in our wake.
we move in unison and in harmony, liquid and alluring, untouchable; it almost feels unfair, to expose this part of us to the rest of the world. how could they possibly compete?
my favourite part of it all is afterwards, when we've left reeking of cigarettes and that unmistakable club smell; when we stumble drunkenly at first, each holding the other up on legs trembly-weak from dancing, then slowly catch our wind again. he always goes predatory first; i can sense it, the slight narrowing of his eyes, a tensing of his muscles, then he pounces. if i let him. i usually do…it's so satisfying to be caught. but after a moment i can't bear it and break away to become as feline and fierce as he is, and we chase each other and bite and struggle briefly and kiss and start it all over again. we tangle on the sidewalks and disengage and weave crazily towards each other again.
my favourite part of it all is afterwards. when we're twining and stalking and loving each other so uninhibitedly. i never want it to end.
please never let this end.
