I take the first step and wonder what you'll taste like.
I've stopped myself so many times from walking up behind you and leaning in to savor your neck. Kept from wrapping my arms around your chest. Pressing against your arse, my cock hard as it always is when I think of you, see you, hear your voice.
One hand will cup your balls, trace your cock. Will it be hard as mine? Will you hex me or punch me? Will you press back against me instead, moan maybe?
Another step.
I've heard you moan once. The last Quidditch match of 5th year. I could smell your sweat as we both dived after the Snitch. I'm only a little taller than you, but it was enough to grab the Snitch right before you did. You moaned, full of anger and frustration, I guess. The sound almost made me let go of my broomstick, the Snitch, the air in my lungs.
Just a little closer now.
I want you to moan for me. I want to hear you as my cock fills you. Gasp, whimper as my hand pumps you. Scream as you come, spilling your pleasure over my fingers. Moan with me, for me, because of me.
I don't want to dream of fucking you any longer. I'm tired of imagining what your body will feel like next to mine.
You still don't notice me as I take one more step.
How can the shape of your shoulders turn me on? They are just shoulders, a bit bony at that, and really unremarkable, except that they are yours. I've watched your blond hair grow almost long enough to touch them, but you always get it cut before it can. Will you cut me down too before I can touch you?
Only two more steps to go.
You are so absorbed trimming your broom, you don't notice me, I guess. You don't look up, don't move. Can't you feel me? It's not like you to be so oblivious.
Last step.
Actually, I took the last step some time ago. I decided to be honest about what I wanted. You, not her. I could never manage to want her as I want you. I hated hurting her, and I do love her, just not the way I love you. Yes, I love you.
I love how everything else disappears when we face off high above the pitch. I love the defiance and challenge in your eyes that are for me alone. There is a side of you that is reserved to dealing with me alone. You throw your whole self into it when facing me, and I've watched you long enough to know you don't do it with anyone else.
Will it be like that when we make love? Will you compete with me to see who can give the other the most pleasure? Who can kiss harder, make the other scream first, louder, more?
I reach out now, my hand almost touches you. Yours shoots up and grabs my wrist. You turn, snakelike, and look into my eyes, one eyebrow raised.
"Took you long enough, Potter."
I've stopped myself so many times from walking up behind you and leaning in to savor your neck. Kept from wrapping my arms around your chest. Pressing against your arse, my cock hard as it always is when I think of you, see you, hear your voice.
One hand will cup your balls, trace your cock. Will it be hard as mine? Will you hex me or punch me? Will you press back against me instead, moan maybe?
Another step.
I've heard you moan once. The last Quidditch match of 5th year. I could smell your sweat as we both dived after the Snitch. I'm only a little taller than you, but it was enough to grab the Snitch right before you did. You moaned, full of anger and frustration, I guess. The sound almost made me let go of my broomstick, the Snitch, the air in my lungs.
Just a little closer now.
I want you to moan for me. I want to hear you as my cock fills you. Gasp, whimper as my hand pumps you. Scream as you come, spilling your pleasure over my fingers. Moan with me, for me, because of me.
I don't want to dream of fucking you any longer. I'm tired of imagining what your body will feel like next to mine.
You still don't notice me as I take one more step.
How can the shape of your shoulders turn me on? They are just shoulders, a bit bony at that, and really unremarkable, except that they are yours. I've watched your blond hair grow almost long enough to touch them, but you always get it cut before it can. Will you cut me down too before I can touch you?
Only two more steps to go.
You are so absorbed trimming your broom, you don't notice me, I guess. You don't look up, don't move. Can't you feel me? It's not like you to be so oblivious.
Last step.
Actually, I took the last step some time ago. I decided to be honest about what I wanted. You, not her. I could never manage to want her as I want you. I hated hurting her, and I do love her, just not the way I love you. Yes, I love you.
I love how everything else disappears when we face off high above the pitch. I love the defiance and challenge in your eyes that are for me alone. There is a side of you that is reserved to dealing with me alone. You throw your whole self into it when facing me, and I've watched you long enough to know you don't do it with anyone else.
Will it be like that when we make love? Will you compete with me to see who can give the other the most pleasure? Who can kiss harder, make the other scream first, louder, more?
I reach out now, my hand almost touches you. Yours shoots up and grabs my wrist. You turn, snakelike, and look into my eyes, one eyebrow raised.
"Took you long enough, Potter."