A/N: Pure, unadulterated slash is what this is. If the thought of Draco &
Harry holding hands and looking deeply into each other's eyes is enough to
make you puke, let's just say there's no fucking way in the entire wizardry
world and beyond that you'll be able to take this.
Disclaimer: I'll have you know that if these characters were mine, the Harry Potter series would be considered as more of a series of erotic- novellas, than say, children's books.
Enjoy, my kittens.
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Seeker's Game
Chapter 1. Drive
Sweat, rushing blood, and heat were all I felt. Flush against each other on our sides, breathing heavily, groping for the prize. Any moment now; I could feel it coming, pulsing in my veins, electrifying every nerve. I could see it in him, too. Watching his face and neck slick with sweat, blood red lips parted for air, hair strewn at wild angles, and reaching, almost there, just as I was. Seconds-no, not even, and it would release to a devastatingly beautiful end. In a moment of eternity, that went by all too fast, a flash of milky skin, reaching.reaching.
The snitch had been caught by the great Harry Potter, yet again, as he pumped his fist air in victory, an exhilarating game had come to a close. A final win by Gryffindor for the House Cup with a score of 230-90. We had been in the lead and could have won, had it not been for my lack of speed, and more importantly, drive.
I've always wondered what kept him going, the brave, honorable boy that everyone looked up to. Perhaps the overwhelming and heavily exaggerated adoration of his fan-club and elite group of friends? Perhaps the need to avenge his honor against his rival by utter defeat and total humiliation? A pesky show of nobility to pay me back for all the times I've crossed his path and made a show of disparaging everyone's most sought after hero and icon. Yes, perhaps. All of that may be true, and yet there's always something more. I see every time I fly past him on the pitch, customary sneer drawn- mocking him, provoking him. He gazes back with an unfathomable intensity that causes me to shudder and turn away, carefully disguised by a grimace of disgust.
Even as I turn away, every time he gets the better of me. All throughout the game, his concentration bent upon looking for a glimpse of that hyperactive snitch, his entire body tensed and alert, almost as if he can hear the flitting of its golden wings. When it appears, he zooms straight after it; a triumph of the sky, rivaling all others who take their throne in it. Agile and fluid, his motions are liquid steel. Caught in a moment's hesitation, I watch, spellbound, as he takes off. I soon follow, but to no avail. However fast, new, or expensive my broomstick is, I could never rival his instinct for flying. So I am content now, simply rubbing elbows, as they say, with the picture of blistering glory. Exalting in victory, time after time, it glistens off his skin, and radiates from every inch of his well-toned body. This energy, this indescribable aura of completion coming from the one I most despise.
Or, the one that my world tells me that I should. I am but a puppet, drawn by it's almighty strings. But who knows? After all, life is but a show, and it is our job to make the impromptu changes in its program. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, am driven to that very aspect of cutting life's strings, and showing the world a more spectacular performance than it could have ever dreamed possible.
What is my drive? The force behind my actions? The object which I seek? The precious snitch in my midst?
Harry Potter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hmmm, yes, very enticing imagery, indeed. So far, anyway. Have a case of semi-writer's block. Need suggestions quick! What do you think of 'Handcuffs are for Muggles, This is Wizard's Sex' as the title of my next story? Oooh, the spectacular possibilities!
Disclaimer: I'll have you know that if these characters were mine, the Harry Potter series would be considered as more of a series of erotic- novellas, than say, children's books.
Enjoy, my kittens.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seeker's Game
Chapter 1. Drive
Sweat, rushing blood, and heat were all I felt. Flush against each other on our sides, breathing heavily, groping for the prize. Any moment now; I could feel it coming, pulsing in my veins, electrifying every nerve. I could see it in him, too. Watching his face and neck slick with sweat, blood red lips parted for air, hair strewn at wild angles, and reaching, almost there, just as I was. Seconds-no, not even, and it would release to a devastatingly beautiful end. In a moment of eternity, that went by all too fast, a flash of milky skin, reaching.reaching.
The snitch had been caught by the great Harry Potter, yet again, as he pumped his fist air in victory, an exhilarating game had come to a close. A final win by Gryffindor for the House Cup with a score of 230-90. We had been in the lead and could have won, had it not been for my lack of speed, and more importantly, drive.
I've always wondered what kept him going, the brave, honorable boy that everyone looked up to. Perhaps the overwhelming and heavily exaggerated adoration of his fan-club and elite group of friends? Perhaps the need to avenge his honor against his rival by utter defeat and total humiliation? A pesky show of nobility to pay me back for all the times I've crossed his path and made a show of disparaging everyone's most sought after hero and icon. Yes, perhaps. All of that may be true, and yet there's always something more. I see every time I fly past him on the pitch, customary sneer drawn- mocking him, provoking him. He gazes back with an unfathomable intensity that causes me to shudder and turn away, carefully disguised by a grimace of disgust.
Even as I turn away, every time he gets the better of me. All throughout the game, his concentration bent upon looking for a glimpse of that hyperactive snitch, his entire body tensed and alert, almost as if he can hear the flitting of its golden wings. When it appears, he zooms straight after it; a triumph of the sky, rivaling all others who take their throne in it. Agile and fluid, his motions are liquid steel. Caught in a moment's hesitation, I watch, spellbound, as he takes off. I soon follow, but to no avail. However fast, new, or expensive my broomstick is, I could never rival his instinct for flying. So I am content now, simply rubbing elbows, as they say, with the picture of blistering glory. Exalting in victory, time after time, it glistens off his skin, and radiates from every inch of his well-toned body. This energy, this indescribable aura of completion coming from the one I most despise.
Or, the one that my world tells me that I should. I am but a puppet, drawn by it's almighty strings. But who knows? After all, life is but a show, and it is our job to make the impromptu changes in its program. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, am driven to that very aspect of cutting life's strings, and showing the world a more spectacular performance than it could have ever dreamed possible.
What is my drive? The force behind my actions? The object which I seek? The precious snitch in my midst?
Harry Potter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hmmm, yes, very enticing imagery, indeed. So far, anyway. Have a case of semi-writer's block. Need suggestions quick! What do you think of 'Handcuffs are for Muggles, This is Wizard's Sex' as the title of my next story? Oooh, the spectacular possibilities!